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i  ' 


Xv 


1       ,/y 


Molly's   New  Bonnbt. 


WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 


AN    EVERYDAY     STORY. 


BY 

MRS.     GASKELL. 


WITH   EIOHTEEN    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY  OEORGE    DU    MAURIER 


/N    TWO     VOLUMES. 


VOL.     I. 


LONDON : 
SMITH,     ELDER     AND     CO.,     05,     CORN  HILL. 

186G. 

[  The  right  of  Translation  is  rei>erved.'\ 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  I. 


rUAr.  '""" 

I.     The  Dawn  ov  a  Gala  Day    ^ 

II.     A  Novice  amongst  the  Gueat  Folk *0 

III.  Molly  Gibson's  Ciiildiiood  26 

IV.  Mr.  Gibson's  Neiquboubs  ^ 

V.     Calf-Love - ■♦* 

VI.     A  Visit  to  the  IIamleys   - ^^ 

VII.    FoKEsiiAnoM's  of  Love  Perils  ~    '2 

VIII.    Drifting  into  Danger ^^ 

IX.    The  Widower  and  the  Widow  9* 

X.    A  Crisis    103 

XI.     Making  Friendship  ^21 

XII.       PRKrABING    for    THE    Wf.DDING '37 

XIII.  Molly  Gibson's  New  Friends  1*6 

XIV.  Molly  Finds  Herself  Patronized 157 

XV.    The  New  Mamma  171 

XVI.     The  Bripe  at  Home... 180 

XVII.     Trolble  at  Hamley  Hall 190 

XVIII.     Mr.  O.snoRNE'9  Secret 202 

XIX.     Cynthia's  Arrival - 215 

XX.    Mrs.  Gibson's  Visitors    - 226 

XXI.    The  Half-Sisters  235 

XXII.     The  Old  Syi  iue's  Troibles 249 

XXIII.  Osborne  Hamley  Ueviews  his  Positiow    260 

XXIV.  Mrs.  Gibson's  Ljttle  Dinner 269 

XXV.  Hollingford  in  a  Bustle  276 

XXVI.  A  Charity  Ball ._„ 285 

XXVH.     Father  and  Sons  303 

XXVHI.     Rivalry „ 311 

XXIX.     Bvsii-FiGHTiNo 323 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Mollt's  New  Bonnet Frontispiece. 

A  Love  Letter To  face  page  46 

ViE  ViCTIS  

The  New  Mamma 

Unwelcome  Attentions 

Shakspeare  and  the  Musical  Glasses 

First  Impressions 

Roger  is  Introduced  and  Enslaved 

"Td  t'en  Repentiras,  Colin" 

"  Wht,  Osborne,  is  it  You  ?  " 


85 
125 
162 
181 
218 
240 
272 
326 


WIVES    AND    DAUGHTERS. 

A\   EVKRY-DAV   STORY. 


CILVPTER  I. 
TIIK   DAWX    OF    A    fiALA    DAY. 

To  begin  with  the  old  rigmarole  of  cbiklliooil.  In  a  country  there 
was  a  shii'e,  and  in  that  shire  there  was  a  town,  and  in  that  town 
there  was  a  house,  and  in  that  house  there  was  a  room,  and  in  that 
room  there  was  a  bed,  and  in  that  bod  there  lay  a  little  girl ;  wide 
awake  and  longing  to  get  up,  but  not  daring  to  do  so  for  fear  of  the 
unseen  power  in  the  next  room  ;  a  certain  Betty,  whose  slumbers 
must  not  be  disturbed  until  six  o'clock  struck,  when  she  wakened 
of  herself  "  as  sure  as  clockwork,"  and  left  the  household  very  little 
peace  aftcr\N-ards.  It  was  a  June  morning,  and  early  as  it  was,  the 
room  was  full  of  sunny  warmth  and  light. 

On  the  drawers  opposite  to  the  little  white  dimity  bed  in  which 
Molly  Gibson  lay,  was  a  primitive  kind  of  bonnet-stand  on  which  was 
hung  a  bonnet,  carefully  covered  over  from  any  chance  of  dust  with 
a  large  cotton  handkerchief ;  of  so  heavj*  and  serviceable  a  texture 
that  if  till"  thing  underneath  it  had  been  a  flimsy  fabric  of  gauze  and 
lace  and  flowers,  it  would  have  been  altogether  "  scomfished  "  (again 
to  quote  from  Betty's  vocabulary).  But  the  bonnet  was  made  of 
solid  straw,  and  its  only  trimming  was  a  plain  white  ribbon  put  over 
the  crown,  and  forming  the  strings.  Still,  there  was  a  neat  little 
quilling  inside,  evei7  plait  of  which  Molly  knew,  for  had  she  not 
made  it  herself  the  evening  before,  with  infinite  pains  ?  and  was 
there  not  a  little  blue  bow  in  this  quilling,  the  very  first  bit  of  such 
finen'  Molly  had  ever  had  the  prospect  of  wearing  ? 

Vol.  I.  1 


2  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

Six  o'clock  now  !  the  pleasant,  brisk  ringing  of  the  church  hells 
told  that ;  calling  every  one  to  their  daily  work,  as  they  had  done  for 
hundreds  of  years.  Up  jumped  Molly,  and  ran  with  her  hare  little 
feet  across  the  room,  and  lifted  off  the  handkerchief  and  saw  once 
again  the  bonnet ;  the  pledge  of  the  gay  bright  day  to  come.  Then 
to  the  window,  and  after  some  tugging  she  opened  the  casement,  and 
let  in  the  sweet  morning  air.  The  dew^  was  already  off  the  flowers  in 
the  garden  below,  but  still  rising  from  the  long  hay- grass  in  the 
meadows  directly  beyond.  At  one  side  lay  the  little  town  of  Holling- 
ford,  into  a  street  of  which  Mr.  Gibson's  front  door  opened  ;  and 
delicate  column:^,  and  little  puffs  of  smoke  were  already  beginning  to 
rise  from  many  a  cottage  chimney  where  some  housewife  was  already 
up,  and  preparing  breakfast  for  the  bread-winner  of  the  family. 

Molly  Gibson  saw  all  this,  but  all  slie  thought  about  it  was, 
"  Oh  !  it  will  be  a  fine  day  !  I  vras  afraid  it  never,  never  would 
come  ;  or  that,  if  it  ever  came,  it  would  be  a  rainy  day  !  "  Five- 
and-forty  years  ago,  children's  pleasures  in  a  country  town  were  very 
simple,  and  Molly  had  lived  for  twelve  long  years  without  the  occur- 
rence of  any  event  so  great  as  that  which  was  now  impending.  Poor 
child !  it  is  true  that  she  had  lost  her  mother,  which  was  a  jar  to  the 
"whole  tenour  of  her  life  ;  but  that  was  hardly  an  event  in  the  sense 
referred  to  ;  and  besides,  she  had  been  too  young  to  be  conscious  of 
it  at  the  time.  The  pleasure  she  was  looking  forward  to  to-day  was 
her  first  share  in  a  kind  of  aimual  festival  in  Hollingford. 

The  little  straggling  town  faded  away  into  country  on  one  side 
close  to  the  entrance-lodge  of  a  great  park,  where  lived  my  Lord  and 
Lady  Cumnor:  "  the  earl  "  and  'Ithe  countess,"  as  they  vrcre  always 
called  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  town ;  where  a  very  pretty  amount 
of  feudal  feeling  still  lingered,  and  showed  itself  in  a  number  of 
simple  ways,  droll  enough  to  look  back  upon,  but  serious  matters 
of  importance  at  the  time.  It  was  before  the  passing  of  the  Reform 
Bill,  but  a  good  deal  of  liberal  talk  took  place  occasionally  between 
two  or  three  of  the  more  enlightened  freeholders  living  in  Holling- 
ford ;  and  there  vras  a  great  "Whig  family  in  the  county  who,  from 
time  to  time,  came  forward  and  contested  the  election  with  the  rival 
.Tory  family  of  Cumnor.  One  would  have  thought  that  the  above- 
mentioned  liberal-talking  inhabitants  of  Hollingford  would  have,  at 
least,  admitted  the  possibility  of  theii-  voting  for  the  Hely-Hamson 
"who  represented  their  own  opinions.  But  no  such  thing.  "  The 
earl "  was  lord  of  the  manor,  and  owner  of  much  of  the  land  on 


THK   DAWN  OF  A   fiALA   DAY.  8 

which  IlollinpforJ  was  built ;  ho  tind  his  hduscholil  wcro  fed,  nnd 
doctored,  nnd,  to  n  certain  meiisure,  clothed  by  tho  good  people  of  the 
town  ;  their  fathers'  grandfathers  had  always  voted  for  tho  eldest  son 
of  Cinnnor  Towers,  and  following  in  tho  ancestral  track,  every  man- 
jack  in  the  place  gave  his  vote  to  tho  liege  lord,  totally  irrespective 
of  snch  chimeras  as  political  opinion. 

This  was  no  unusual  instance  of  the  inflnoncc  of  tho  great  land- 
owners over  humbler  neighbours  in  those  days  before  railways,  and  it 
was  well  for  a  place  where  the  powerful  family,  who  thus  overshadowed 
it,  wcro  of  so  respectable  a  character  as  the  Cumnors.  They  expected 
to  be  submitted  to,  and  obeyed ;  tho  simple  worship  of  tho  towns- 
people was  accepted  by  tho  earl  and  countess  as  a  right ;  and  they 
v.-onld  have  stood  still  in  amazement,  and  with  a  horrid  memory  of 
the  French  sansculottes  who  were  the  bugbears  of  their  youth,  had 
any  inhabitant  of  Hollingford  ventured  to  set  his  will  or  opinions  in 
opposition  to  those  of  the  carl.  But,  yielded  all  that  obeisance,  they 
did  a  good  deal  for  the  town,  and  were  generally  condescending,  and 
often  thoughtful  and  kind  in  their  treatment  of  their  vassals.  Lord 
Cumnor  was  a  forbearing  landlord ;  putting  his  steward  a  little  on  one 
side  sometimes,  and  taking  tho  reins  into  his  own  hands  now  and  then, 
much  to  the  annoyance  of  tho  agent,  who  was,  in  fact,  too  rich  and 
independent  to  care  greatly  for  prcsci-ving  a  post  where  his  decisions 
might  any  day  bo  overturned  by  my  lord's  taking  a  fancy  to  go 
"  pottering"  (as  the  agent  iiToverently  expressed  it  in  the  sanctuary 
of  his  own  home),  which,  being  intcqireted,  meant  that  occasionally 
the  carl  asked  his  own  questions  of  his  own  tenants,  and  used  his 
own  eyes  and  ears  in  tho  management  of  the  smaller  details  of  his 
property.  But  his  tenants  liked  my  lord  all  the  better  for  this  habit 
of  his.  Lord  Cumnor  had  certainly  a  little  time  for  gossip,  which 
he  contrived  to  combine  with  tho  failing  of  personal  intervention 
between  the  old  land-steward  and  tho  tenantry.  But,  then,  the 
countess  made  up  by  her  unapproachable  dignity  for  this  weakness 
of  the  carl's.  Once  a  year  she  was  condescending.  She  and  tho 
ladies,  her  daughters,  had  set  up  a  school ;  not  a  school  after  the 
manner  of  schools  now-a-days,  where  far  better  intellectual  teaching 
is  given  to  tho  boys  and  girls  of  labourers  and  work-people  than 
often  falls  to  the  lot  of  their  betters  in  worldly  estate  ;  but  a  school 
of  tho  kind  we  should  call  "  industrial,"'  where  girls  are  taught  to 
sew  beautifully,  to  be  capital  housemaids,  and  pretty  fair  cooks,  and, 
above  all,  to  chess  neatly  in  a  kind  of  charity  uniform  devised  by 

1—2 


4  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

the  ladies  of  Cumuor  Towers  ; — wliite  caps,  white  tippets,  check 
aprons,  hlue  gowns,  and  ready  curtseys,  and  "please,  ma'ams," 
being  de  r'ujueur. 

Now,  as  the  countess  was  absent  from  the  Towers  for  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  year,  she  was  glad  to  enlist  the  sympathy  of  the 
Hollingford  ladies  in  this  school,  with  a  view  to  obtaining  their  aid 
as  visitors  during  the  many  months  that  she  and  her  daughters  were 
away.  And  the  various  unoccupied  gentlewomen  of  the  town  re- 
sponded to  the  call  of  their  liege  lady,  and  gave  her  their  service  as 
required ;  and  along  with  it,  a  great  deal  of  whispered  and  fussy 
admiration.  "  How  good  of  the  countess  !  So  like  the  dear  countess 
— always  thinking  of  others  !  "  and  so  on ;  while  it  was  always  sup- 
posed that  no  strangers  had  seen  Hollingford  properly,  unless  they  had 
been  taken  to  the  countess's  school,  and  been  duly  impressed  by  the 
neat  little  pupils,  and  the  still  neater  needlework  there  to  be  inspected. 
In  return,  there  was  a  day  of  honour  set  apart  every  summer, 
when  with  much  gracious  and  stately  hospitality.  Lady  Cumnor 
and  her  daughters  received  all  the  school  visitors  at  the  Towers,  the 
great  femily  mansion  standing  in  aristocratic  seclusion  in  the  centre 
of  the  large  park,  of  which  one  of  the  lodges  was  close  to  the  little 
town.  The  order  of  this  annual  festivity  was  this.  About  ten 
o'clock  one  of  the  Towers'  carriages  rolled  through  the  lodge,  and 
drove  to  different  houses,  wherein  dwelt  a  woman  to  be  honoured  ; 
picking  them  up  by  ones  or  twos,  till  the  loaded  carriage  drove  back 
again  through  the  ready  portals,  bowled  along  the  smooth  tree-shaded 
road,  and  deposited  its  covey  of  smartly-dressed  ladies  on  the  great 
flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  ponderous  doors  of  Cumnor  Towers. 
Back  again  to  the  town  ;  another  picking  up  of  womankind  in  their 
best  clothes,  and  another  return,  and  so  on  till  the  whole  party  were 
assembled  either  in  the  house  or  in  the  really  beautiful  gardens. 
After  the  proper  amount  of  exhibition  on  the  one  part,  and  admira- 
tion on  the  other,  had  been  done,  there  was  a  collation  for  the  visitors, 
and  some  more  display  and  admiration  of  the  treasures  inside  the 
house.  Towards  four  o'clock,  cofiee  was  brought  round ;  and  this 
Avas  a  signal  of  the  approaching  carriage  that  was  to  take  them  back 
to  their  own  homes  ;  whither  they  returned  with  the  happy  con- 
sciousness of  a  well-spent  day,  but  with  some  fatigue  at  the  long- 
continued  exertion  of  behaving  their  best,  and  talking  on  stilts  for  so 
many  hours.  Nor  were  Lady  Cumnor  and  her  daughters  free  from 
something  of  the  same  self-approbation,  and  something,  too,  of  the 


Tin:   DAWN   OF    A    fiALA    DAY.  6 

finmo  fiitiguo  ;  tho  fatigue  thiit  always  follows  on  conscious  efforts  to 
licliavo  as  will  lit'st  pleiiso  the  society  yon  arc  in. 

For  tho  first  time  in  her  lifi',  Molly  Clihson  was  to  bt;  included  among 
the  guests  at  tho  Towers.  She  was  much  too  young  to  bo  a  visitor 
nt  tho  school,  so  it  was  not  on  that  account  that  she  was  to  go  ;  but 
it  lia«l  so  liapponed  that  one  day  when  Lord  Cuninor  was  on  a 
"  pottorin;,' ■'  expedition,  he  had  nut  Mr.  Gibson,  thr  doctor  of  the 
noighbourhood,  coming  out  of  the  farm-house  my  lord  was  entering ; 
and  having  some  small  question  to  ask  tho  surgeon  (Lord  Cumnor 
seldom  passed  any  one  of  his  aciinaintancc  without  asking  a  question 
of  some  sort — not  always  attending  to  the  answer  ;  it  was  his  mode 
of  conversation),  he  accompanied  Mr.  Gibson  to  the  out-building,  to 
a  ring  in  tho  wall  of  which  the  surgeon's  horse  was  fastened.  Molly 
was  there  too,  sitting  square  and  quiet  on  her  rough  little  pony, 
waiting  for  her  father.  Her  grave  eyes  opened  large  and  wide  at  the 
close  neighbourhood  and  evident  advance  of  "  the  earl  ;  "  for  to  her 
little  imagination  the  grey-haired,  red-faced,  somewhat  clumsy  man, 
was  a  cross  between  an  archangel  and  a  king. 

"  Your  daughter,  eh,  Gibson  ? — nice  little  girl,  how  old  '?  Pony 
wants  grooming  though,"  patting  it  as  he  talked.  "  What's  your 
name,  my  dear?  He  is  sadly  behindhand  with  his  rent,  as  I  was 
saying,  but  if  he  is  really  ill,  I  must  see  after  Sheepshanks,  who  is  a 
hardish  man  of  business.  ^Yhat's  his  complaint  ?  You'll  come  to 
our  school-scrimmage  on  Thursday,  little  girl — what's-your-name  ? 
Mind  you  send  her,  or  bring  her,  Gibson  ;  and  just  give  a  word  to 
your  groom,  for  I'm  sure  that  pony  was  not  singed  last  year,  now, 
was  he  ?  Don't  forget  Thursday,  little  girl — what's-your-name  ? — 
it's  a  promise  between  us,  is  it  not  ?  "'  And  oft'  the  earl  trottcnl, 
attracted  by  the  sight  of  tho  farmer's  eldest  son  on  the  other  side  of 
the  yard. 

Mr.  Gibson  mounted,  and  ho  and  Molly  rode  olV.  They  did  not 
speak  for  some  time.  Then  she  said,  "  May  I  go,  papa  '?  "  in  rather 
an  anxious  little  tone  of  voice. 

"  Where,  my  dear?"  said  he,  wakening  up  out  of  his  own  pro- 
fessional thonghts. 

'•  To  the  Towers — on  Thursday,  you  know.  That  gentleman  " 
(she  was  shy  of  calling  him  by  his  title),  "  asked  me." 

'*  Would  you  like  it,  my  dear  ?  It  has  always  seemed  to  me 
rather  a  tiresome  piece  of  gaiety — rather  a  tiring  day,  I  mean — 
beginning  so  early — and  the  heat,  and  all  that." 


b  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTEES. 

"  Ob,  papa  !  "  said  Mollv,  reproacMully. 

"  You'd  like  to  go  then,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  if  I  may  ! — He  asked  me,  you  know.  Don't  you  tliink 
I  may  ? — he  asked  me  twice  over." 

"  Well !  we'll  see — yes  !  I  think  we  can  manage  it,  if  you  wish 
it  so  much,  Molly." 

Then  they  were  silent  again.     By-and-by,  Molly  said, — 

"  Please,  papa — I  do  wish  to  go, — but  I  don't  care  about  it." 

"  That's  rather  a  puzzling  speech.  But  I  suppose  you  mean  you 
don't  care  to  go,  if  it  will  be  any  trouble  to  get  you  there.  I  can 
easily  manage  it,  however,  so  you  may  consider  it  settled.  You'll 
want  a  white  frock,  remember ;  you'd  better  tell  Betty  you're  going, 
and  she'll  see  after  making  you  tidy." 

Now,  there  v/ere  two  or  thi-ee  things  to  be  done  by  Mr.  Gibson, 
before  he  could  feel  quite  comfortable  about  Molly's  going  to  the 
festival  at  the  Towers,  and  each  of  them  involved  a  little  trouble  on 
his  part.  But  he  was  very  willing  to  gratify  his  little  girl ;  so  the 
next  day  he  rode  over  to  the  Towers,  ostensibly  to  visit  some  sick 
housemaid,  but,  in  reality,  to  throw  himself  in  my  lady's  way,  and 
get  her  to  ratify  Lord  Cumnor's  invitation  to  Molly.  He  chose  his 
time,  with  a  little  natural  diplomacy ;  which,  indeed,  he  had  ofteu  to 
exercise  in  his  intercourse  v/ith  the  great  family.  He  rode  into  the 
stable-yard  about  twelve  o'clock,  a  little  before  luncheon-time,  and 
yet  after  the  worry  of  opening  the  post-bag  and  discussing  its  con- 
tents was  over.  After  he  had  put  up  his  horse,  he  went  in  by  the 
back-way  to  the  house  ;  the  "  House  "  on  this  side,  the  "  Towers" 
at  the  fi'ont.  He  saw  his  patient,  gave  his  directions  to  the  house- 
keeper, and  then  went  out,  vrith  a  rare  wild-flower  in  his  hand,  to 
find  one  of  the  ladies  Tranmere  in  the  garden,  where,  according  to 
his  hope  and  calculation,  he  came  upon  Lady  Cumnor  too, — now 
talking  to  her  daughter  about  the  contents  of  an  open  letter  which 
she  held  in  her  hand,  now  directing  a  gardener  about  certain 
bedding-out  plants. 

"  I  was  calling  to  see  Nanny,  and  I  took  the  opportunity  of 
hringing  Lady  Agnes  the  plant  I  was  telling  her  about  as  growing 
on  Cumnor  Moss." 

"  Thank  you,  so  much,  Mr.  Gibson.  Blamma,  look  !  this  is  the 
Drosera  rotundifu!ii(  I  have  been  wanting  so  long." 

"  Ah !  yes ;  very  pretty  I  daresay,  only  I  am  uo  botanist. 
Nanny  is  better,  I  hope  ?     We  can't  have  any  one  laid  up  next 


TUB   DAWN   OF   A   G.VLA    DAY.  7 

wetk,  for  tlio  house  will  be  quite  full  of  people,— ami  Uoro  arc  the 
Diuibys  wiiilins  to  olVor  tlieniselves  as  well.  Ouo  cornea  down  for  u 
foiUii-ht  i.l'  (luiot,  ut  Wkitsuutido,  ami  leaves  half  one's  establish- 
ment in  town,  and  as  soon  as  people  know  of  our  being  licrc,  we  get 
letters  without  end,  longinj^  for  a  breath  of  cnunti7  air,  or  saymg 
how  lovely  the  Towoi-s  must  look  iu  spring  ;  and  I  must  own,  Lord 
Cumuor  is  a  great  deal  to  bkimo  for  it  all,  for  as  soon  as  ever  wc  arc 
down  here,  he  rides  about  to  all  the  ucighboui's,  and  invites  them  to 
come  over  and  spend  a  few  days." 

'*  We  shall  go  back  to  town  on  Friday  the  Iftth,"  said  Lady 
Agues,  in  a  consolatory  tone. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  as  soon  as  we  have  got  over  the  school  visitors'  all'air. 
iUit  it  is  a  week  to  that  happy  day." 

'•  By  the  way  !  "  said  Mr.  Gibson,  availing  himself  of  the  good 
opening  thus  presented,  "  I  met  my  lord  at  the  Cross-trees  Farm 
yesterday,  and  he  was  kind  enough  to  ask  my  little  daughter,  who 
was  with  mo,  to  bo  one  of  the  party  here  on  Thursday  ;  it  would 
give  the  Lissic  great  pleasure,  I  believe."  He  paused  for  Lady 
Cumnor  to  speak. 

'•  Oh,  well !  if  my  lord  asked  her,  I  suppose  she  must  come,  but 
I  wish  he  was  not  so  amazingly  hospitable !  Not  but  what  the  little 
girl  will  be  quite  welcome  ;  only,  you  see,  he  met  a  younger  Miss 
Browning  the  other  day,  of  whose  existence  I  had  never  heard." 

"  She  visits  at  the  school,  mamma,"  said  Lady  Agues. 

"  Weil,  perhaps  she  does ;  I  never  said  she  did  not.  I  knew 
there  was  one  visitor  of  the  name  of  Browning  ;  I  never  knew  there 
were  two,  but,  of  course,  as  soon  as  Lord  Cumnor  heard  there  was 
another,  he  must  needs  ask  her ;  so  the  carriage  will  have  to  go 
backwards  and  forwai'ds  four  times  now  to  fetch  them  all.  So  your 
daughter  can  come  quite  easily,  Mr.  Gibson,  .ind  I  shall  be  veiy  glad 
to  see  her  for  your  sake.  She  can  sit  bodl;iu  with  the  l^.rownings, 
1  suppose  ?  You'll  arrange  it  all  with  them  ;  and  mind  you  got 
Nanny  well  up  to  her  work  next  week." 

Just  as  Mr.  Gibson  was  going  away,  Lady  Cumnor  called  after 
him,  '•  Oh  !  by-the-by,  Clare  is  hero  ;  you  remember  Clai'c,  don't 
you  ?     She  was  a  patient  of  yours,  long  ago." 

"  Clare,"  he  repeated,  in  a  bewildered  tftuc. 

"  Don't  you  recollect  her  '?  Miss  Clare,  our  old  governess,"  said 
Lady  Agues.  *'  About  twelve  or  fourteen  years  ago,  before  Lady 
Cuxhavcn  was  married." 


8  WIYES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  Ob,  yes!  "  said  lie,  "Miss  Clare,  who  had  the  scarlet  fever 
here  ;  a  very  pretty  delicate  girl.    But  I  thought  she  was  married  !  " 

*'  Yes  !  "  said  Lady  Cumuor.  "  She  was  a  silly  little  thing,  and 
did  not  know  when  she  was  well  off ;  we  were  all  very  fond  of  her, 
I'm  sure.  She  went  and  married  a  poor  curate,  and  became  a  stupid 
Mrs.  Kirkpatrick ;  but  we  always  kept  on  calling  her  '  Clare.'  And 
now  he's  dead,  and  left  her  a  widow,  and  she  is  staying  here  ;  and 
we  are  racking  our  brains  to  find  out  some  way  of  helping  her 
to  a  livelihood  without  parting  her  from  her  child.  She's  some- 
where about  the  grounds,  if  you  like  to  renew  your  acquaintance  with 
her." 

"  Thank  you,  my  lady.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  stop  to-day.  I 
have  a  long  round  to  go  ;  I  have  stayed  here  too  long  as  it  is,  I  am 
afraid." 

Long  as  his  ride  had  been  that  day,  he  called  on  the  Miss 
Brownings  in  the  evening,  to  arrange  about  Molly's  accompanying 
them  to  the  Towers.  They  were  tall  handsome  women,  past  their 
first  youth,  and  inclined  to  be  extremely  complaisant  to  the  widowed 
doctor. 

"  Eh  dear  !  Mr.  Gibson,  but  wc  shall  be  delighted  to  have  her 
with  us.  You  should  never  have  thought  of  asking  us  such  a  thing," 
said  Miss  Browning  the  elder. 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  hardly  sleeping  at  nights  for  thinking  of  it,"  said 
Miss  Phosbe.  "  You  know  I've  never  been  there  before.  Sister  has 
many  a  time  ;  but  somehow,  though  my  name  has  been  down  on  the 
visitors"  list  these  three  years,  the  countess  has  never  named  me  in 
her  note  ;  and  you  know  I  could  not  push  myself  into  notice,  and  go 
to  such  a  grand  place  without  being  asked ;  how  could  I  ?  " 

"I  told  Phoebe  last  yeai-,"  said  her  sister,  "that  I  was  sure 
it  was  only  inadvertence,  as  one  may  call  it,  on  the  part  of  the 
countess,  and  that  her  ladyship  would  be  as  hurt  as  any  one  when 
she  did  not  see  Phoebe  among  the  school  visitors ;  but  Phoibe  has 
got  a  delicate  mind,  you  see,  Mr.  Gibson,  and  all  I  could  say  she 
would  not  go,  but  stopped  here  at  home ;  and  it  spoilt  all  my  pleasure 
all  that  day,  I  do  assure  you,  to  think  of  Phoebe's  face,  as  I  saw  it 
over  the  window-blinds,  as  I  rode  away  ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
if  you'll  believe  me."      »» 

"  I  had  a  good  cry  after  you  was  gone,  Sally,"  said  Miss  Phoebe; 
"  but  for  all  that  I  think  I  was  right  in  stopping  away  from  where  I 
was  not  asked.     Don't  you,  Mr.  Gibson  ?  " 


Tin;    DAWN    OF   A   (JAI-A    DAY.  9 

"  Certainly,"  eaiJ  ho.  "  Ami  you  sic  you  aro  f,'oing  this  year; 
and  last  year  it  raiiu'd." 

'*  Yes  !  I  ri'iiu'iiilH  r  !  I  set  myself  to  tidy  my  drawers,  to  striug 
myself  np,  as  it  Moro ;  and  I  was  so  takcu  up  with  what  1  was  about 
that  I  was  quito  startled  when  I  heard  the  rain  beating  against  the 
window-panes.  '(Joodness  me  !'  said  I  to  myself, '  whatever  will  be- 
eomo  of  sister's  white  sntin  shoes,  if  she  has  to  walk  about  on  soppy 
grass  after  such  rain  as  this  ? '  for,  you  see,  I  thought  a  deal  about 
her  having  a  pair  of  smart  shoes ;  and  this  year  sho  has  gone  and 
got  me  a  white  satin  pair  just  as  smart  as  hers,  for  a  suqirise." 

"  Molly  will  know  she's  to  put  on  her  best  clothes,"  said  Miss 
Bro^^^Iing.  "  Wo  could  perhaps  lend  her  a  few  beads,  or  artificials, 
if  she  wants  them.  " 

"  Molly  must  go  in  a  cUaii  white  frock,"  said  Mr.  Gibson,  rather 
hastily  ;  fi)r  ho  did  not  luliiiire  tho  Miss  Brownings'  taste  in  dress, 
and  was  unwilling  to  have  his  child  decked  up  according  to  their 
fancy;  he  esteemed  his  old  servant  Betty's  as  tho  more  correct, 
because  tho  more  simple.  Miss  Bro\niing  had  just  a  shade  of 
annoyance  in  her  tone  as  she  drew  herself  up,  and  said,  "  Oh  !  veiy 
well.  It's  quite  right,  I'm  sure."  But  Miss  Phoebe  said,  "  Molly 
will  look  very  nice  in  whatever  she  puts  on,  that's  certain." 


(     10     ) 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  NOVICE   AMOXGST    THE   GllEAT   FOLK. 

At  ten  o'clock  ou  the  eventful  Thursday  the  To^vers'  carriage  began 
its  work.  Molly  ^Ya3  ready  long  before  it  made  its  first  appearance, 
although  it  had  been  settled  that  she  and  the  Miss  Brownings  were 
not  to  go  until  the  last,  or  fourth,  time  of  its  coming.  Her  face  had 
been  soaped,  scrubbed,  and  shone  brilliantly  clean  ;  her  frills,  her 
frock,  her  ribbons  were  all  snow-white.  She  had  on  a  black  mode 
cloak  that  had  been  her  mother's  ;  it  was  trimmed  round  with  rich 
lace,  and  looked  quaint  and  old-fashioned  on  the  child.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  wore  kid  gloves  ;  hitherto  she  had  only  had 
cotton  ones.  Her  gloves  were  far  too  large  for  the  little  dimpled 
fingers,  but  as  Betty  had  told  her  they  wore  to  last  her  for  years,  it 
Avas  all  very  well.  She  trembled  many  a  time,  and  almost  turned 
faint  once  with  the  long  expectation  of  the  morning.  Betty  might 
say  what  she  liked  about  a  watched  pot  never  boiling ;  Molly  never 
ceased  to  watch  the  approach  through  the  winding  street,  and  after 
tvi^o  hours  the  carriage  came  for  her  at  last.  She  had  to  sit  very  for- 
ward to  avoid  crushing  the  Miss  Brownings'  new  dresses ;  and  yet 
not  too  forward,  for  fear  of  incommoding  fat  Mrs.  Goodeuough  and 
her  niece,  who  occupied  the  front  seat  of  the  carriage ;  so  that  alto- 
gether the  fact  of  sitting  down  at  all  was  rather  doubtful,  and  to  add 
to  her  discomfort,  Molly  felt  herself  to  be  very  conspicuously  placed 
in  the  centre  of  the  carriage,  a  mark  for  all  the  observation  of 
HoUingford.  It  was  far  too  much  of  a  gala  day  for  the  work  of  the 
little  town  to  go  forward  with  its  usual  regularity.  Maid-servants 
gazed  out  of  upper  windows  ;  shopkeepers'  wives  stood  on  the  door- 
steps ;  cottagers  ran  out,  with  babies  in  their  arms  ;  and  little 
children,  too  young  to  know  how  to  behave  respectfully  at  the  sight 
of  an  earl's  carriage,   huzzaed  merrily  as  it  bowled  along.      The 


A   NOVICE  AMONGar  TUE  OIIEAT    1 OLK. 


11 


Woman  at  tbo  lodge  held  the  gate  open,  and  dropped  a  low  curtsey  to 
the  liveries.  And  now  tliey  were  in  the  Turk  ;  mid  now  they  were 
in  sight  of  the  Towers,  and  silence  fell  upon  the  curriu>;e-full  of 
ladies,  only  broken  by  one  fuint  remark  from  Mrs.  Goodenough's 
niece,  a  stranger  to  the  town,  as  they  drew  up  before  the  double 
semicircle  flight  of  steps  which  led  to  the  door  of  the  mansion. 

"They  call  that  a  perron,  I  believe,  don't  they  '?  "  she  asked. 
But  the  only  answer  she  obtained  was  a  simultaneous  "  hush."  It 
was  very  awful,  as  Molly  thought,  and  she  half  wished  herself  at 
homo  again.  But  she  lost  all  consciousness  of  herself  by-aud-by 
when  the  party  strolled  out  into  the  beautiful  grounds,  the  like  of 
which  she  had  never  even  inurgiucd.  Green  velvet  lawns,  bathed  in 
sunshine,  stretched  away  on  every  side  into  the  finely  wooded  park  ; 
if  there  were  divisions  and  ha-has  between  the  soft  sunny  sweeps  of 
grass,  and  the  dark  gloom  of  the  forest-trees  beyond,  Molly  did  not 
see  them ;  and  the  melting  away  of  exquisite  cultivation  into  the 
wilderness  had  an  inexplicable  charm  to  her.  Near  the  house  there 
were  walls  and  fences ;  but  they  were  covered  with  climbing  roses, 
and  rare  honeysuckles  and  other  creepers  just  bursting  into  bloom. 
Thero  were  flower-beds,  too,  scarlet,  crimson,  blue,  orange ;  masses 
of  blossom  lying  on  the  greensward.  Molly  held  Miss  Browning's 
hand  very  tight  as  they  loitered  about  in  company  with  several  other 
ladies,  and  marshalled  by  a  daughter  of  the  Towers,  who  seemed 
half  amused  at  the  voluble  admiration  showered  down  upon  eveiy 
possible  thing  and  place.  Molly  said  nothing,  as  became  her  age 
and  position,  but  every  now  and  then  she  relieved  her  full  heart  by 
drawing  a  deep  breath,  almost  like  a  sigh.  Presently  they  came  to 
the  long  glittering  range  of  greenhouses  and  hothouses,  and  an 
attendant  gardener  was  there  to  admit  the  party.  Molly  did  not  care 
for  this  half  so  much  as  for  the  flowers  in  the  open  air  ;  but  Lady 
Agnes  had  a  more  scientific  taste,  she  expatiated  on  the  rarity  of  this 
plant,  and  the  mode  of  cultivation  required  by  that,  till  Molly  began 
to  feel  verj-  tired,  and  then  very  faint.  She  was  too  shy  to  speak  for 
some  time  ;  but  at  length,  afraid  of  making  a  gi-euter  sensation  if 
she  began  to  cry,  or  if  she  fell  against  the  stands  of  precious  flowers, 
she  caught  at  Jliss  Browning's  hand,  and  gasped  out — 

"  May  I  go  back,  out  into  the  garden  '.'     1  can't  breathe  here  !  " 
**  Oh,  yes,  to  bo  sure,  love.     I  daresay  it's  hard  understanding 
for  you,  love  ;  but  it's  very  fine  and  instructive,  and  a  deal  of  Latin 
in  it  too.'' 


12  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

She  turned  hastily  rountl  not  to  lose  another  •word  of  Lady 
Agnes'  lecture  on  orchids,  and  Molly  turned  back  and  passed  out  of 
the  heated  atmosphere.  She  felt  better  in  the  fresh  air  ;  and  unob- 
served, and  at  liberty,  went  fi-oin  one  lovely  spot  to  another,  now  in 
the  open  park,  now  in  some  shut-in  flower-garden,  where  the  song  of 
the  birds,  and  the  drip  of  the  central  fountain,  were  the  only  sounds, 
and  the  tree-tops  made  an  enclosing  circle  in  the  blue  June  sky  ; 
she  went  along  without  more  thought  as  to  her  whereabouts  than  a 
butterfly  has,  as  it  skims  from  flower  to  flower,  till  at  length  she 
grew  very  weary,  and  wished  to  return  to  the  house,  but  did  not 
know  how,  and  felt  afraid  of  encountering  all  the  strangers  who 
would  be  there,  unprotected  by  cither  of  the  Miss  Bi'ownings.  The 
hot  sun  told  upon  her  head,  and  it  began  to  ache.  She  saw  a  great 
wide- spreading  cedar- tree  upon  a  burst  of  lawn  towards  which  she 
was  advancing,  and  the  black  repose  beneath  its  branches  lured  her 
thither.  There  was  a  rustic  seat  in  the  shadow,  and  weary  Molly 
sate  down  there,  and  presently  fell  asleep. 

She  was  startled  from  her  slumbers  after  a  time,  and  jumped  to 
her  feet.  Two  ladies  were  standing  by  her,  talking  about  her. 
They  were  perfect  strangers  to  her,  and  with  a  vague  conviction  that 
she  had  done  something  wrong,  and  also  because  she  was  worn-out 
with  hunger,  fatigue,  and  the  morning's  excitement,  she  began 
to  cry. 

"  Poor  little  woman  !  She  has  lost  herself;  she  belongs  to  some 
of  the  people  from  Hollingford,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  the  oldest- 
looking  of  the  two  ladies  ;  she  who  appeared  to  be  about  forty, 
though  she  did  not  really  number  more  than  thirty  years.  She  was 
plain-featured,  and  had  rather  a  severe  expression  on  her  face ;  her 
dress  was  as  rich  as  any  morning  dress  could  be ;  her  voice  deep  and 
unmodulated, — what  in  a  lower  rank  of  life  would  have  been  called 
grufi';  but  that  was  not  a  word  to  apply  to  Lady  Cuxhavcn,  the 
eldest  daughter  of  the  earl  and  countess.  The  other  lady  looked 
much  younger,  but  she  was  in  fact  some  years  the  elder;  at  first 
sight  Molly  thought  she  was  the  most  beautiful  person  she  had  ever 
seen,  and  she  was  certainly  a  very  lovely  woman.  Her  voice,  too, 
was  soft  and  plaintive,  as  she  replied  to  Lady  Cuxhaven, — 

"Poor  little  darling!  she  is  overcome  by  the  heat,  I  have  no 
doubt — such  a  heavy  straw  bonnet,  too.  Let  me  untie  it  for  you, 
my  dear." 

Molly  now  found  voice  to  say — "  I  am  Molly  Gibson,  please.     I 


A    NOVICE   AMONGST   THK   ORKAT    FOLK,  13 

canu»  hero,  with  ^liss  iSrowniiigs ;  "  for  her  great  fcur  was  that  hLo 
bhuiiKl  be  taken  for  an  iiuauthori/ed  intruder. 

"  Miss  BrowTiings  ?  "  said  Lady  Cuxhaven  to  lier  companion,  an 
if  iniiiiiriuf^ly. 

'*  I  think  thoy  were  the  two  tall  large  young  women  that  Lady 
Agues  was  talking  about." 

"  Oh,  I  daresay.  I  saw  she  had  a  number  of  people  in  tow  ;  " 
then  looking  again  at  Mt)lly,  she  said,  "Have  you  had  anything  to 
eat,  child,  since  you  came?  You  look  a  very  white  little  thing;  or 
is  it  tlic  heat  ?  " 

'•  I  have  had  nothing  to  cat,"'  said  Molly,  rather  pitcously  ;  for, 
indeed,  before  she  fell  asleep  she  had  been  very  hungry. 

The  two  ladies  spoke  to  each  other  in  a  low  voice  ;  then  the  elder 
said  in  a  voice  of  authority,  which,  indeed,  she  had  always  used  in 
speaking  to  the  other,  "  Sit  still  here,  my  dear  ;  we  arc  going  to  the 
liouse,  and  Clare  shall  bring  you  something  to  cat  before  you  trj-  to 
walk  back  ;  it  must  be  a  quarter  of  a  mile  at  least."  So  they  went 
away,  and  Molly  sat  upright,  waiting  for  the  promised  messenger. 
She  did  not  know  who  Clare  might  be,  and  she  did  not  care  much 
for  food  now ;  but  she  felt  as  if  she  could  not  walk  without  some 
help.  At  length  she  saw  the  pretty  lady  coming  back,  followed  by  a 
lootman  with  a  small  tray. 

"  Look  how  kind  Lady  Cuxhaven  is,"  said  she  who  was  called 
Clare.  "She  chose  you  out  this  little  lunch  herself  ;  and  now  you 
must  try  and  eat  it,  and  you'll  bo  quite  right  when  you've  had  some 
food,  darling — You  need  not  stop,  Edwards  ;  I  will  bring  the  tray 
back  with  me." 

There  was  some  bread,  and  some  cold  chicken,  and  some  jelly, 
and  a  glass  of  wine,  and  a  bottle  of  sparkling  water,  and  a  bunch  of 
grapes.  Molly  put  out  her  trembling  little  hand  for  the  water  ;  but 
slie  was  too  faint  to  hold  it.  Clare  put  it  to  her  mouth,  and  she  took 
a  long  draught  and  was  refreshed.  I'.ut  she  could  not  eat ;  she  tried, 
but  she  could  not ;  her  headache  was  too  bad.  Clare  looked  bewil- 
dered. "  Take  some  grapes,  they  will  be  the  best  for  you ;  yon  must 
try  and  cat  something,  or  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  got  you  to  the 
house." 

"  My  head  aches  so,"  said  Molly,  lifting  her  heavy  eyes  wistfully. 

"  Oh,  dear,  how  tiresome  !  "  said  Clare,  still  in  her  sweet  gentle 
voice,  not  at  all  as  if  she  was  angry,  only  expressing  an  obvious 
truth.     Molly  felt  very  guilty  and  veiy  unhappy.     Clare  went  on. 


14  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

with  a  shade  of  asperity  in  her  tone  :  "  You  see,  I  don't  know  what 
to  do  with  you  here  if  you  don't  eat  enough  to  enable  you  to  walk 
home.  And  I've  been  out  for  these  three  hours  trapesing  about  the 
grounds  till  I'm  as  tired  as  can  be,  and  missed  my  lunch  and  all." 
Then,  as  if  a  new  idea  had  struck  her,  she  said, — "  You  lie  back  in 
that  seat  for  a  few  minutes,  and  tiy  to  eat  the  bunch  of  grapes,  and 
I'll  wait  for  you,  and  just  be  eating  a  mouthful  meanwhile.  You  are 
sure  you  don't  want  this  chicken  ?  " 

Molly  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  leant  back,  picking  languidly  at 
the  grapes,  and  watching  the  good  appetite  with  which  the  lady  ate 
up  the  chicken  and  jelly,  and  drank  the  glass  of  wine.  She  was  so 
pretty  and  so  gi'aceiul  in  her  deep  mourning,  that  even  her  hurry  in 
eating,  as  if  she  was  afraid  of  some  one  coming  to  surprise  her  in  the 
act,  did  not  keep  her  little  observer  from  admiring  her  in  all  she  did. 

"  And  now,  darling,  are  you  ready  to  go  ?  "  said  she,  when  she 
had  eaten  up  evcijthing  on  the  tray.  "  Oh,  come  ;  you  have  nearly 
finished  your  grapes  ;  that's  a  good  girl.  Now,  if  you  will  come 
with  me  to  the  side  entrance,  I  will  take  you  up  to  my  own  room, 
and  you  shall  lie  down  on  the  bed  for  an  hour  or  two ;  and  if  you 
have  a  good  nap  your  headache  will  be  quite  gone." 

So  they  set  off,  Clare  carrying  the  empty  tray,  rather  to  Molly's 
shame ;  but  the  child  had  enough  work  to  drag  herself  along,  and 
was  afraid  of  offering  to  do  anything  more.  The  *'  side  entrance  " 
was  a  flight  of  steps  leading  up  from  a  private  flower-garden  into  a 
private  matted  hall,  or  ante-room,  out  of  which  many  doors  opened, 
and  in  which  were  deposited  the  light  garden-tools  and  the  bows  and 
arrows  of  the  young  ladies  of  the  house.  Lady  Cuxhaven  must  have 
seen  their  approach,  for  she  met  them  in  this  hall  as  soon  as  they 
came  in. 

"  How  is  she  now  ?"  she  asked ;  then  glancing  at  the  plates  and 
glasses,  she  added,  "  Come,  I  think  there  can't  be  much  amiss  ! 
You're  a  good  old  Clare,  but  you  should  have  let  one  of  the  men 
fetch  that  tray  in ;  life  in  such  weather  as  this  is  trouble  enough  of 
itself." 

Molly  could  not  help  wishing  that  her  pretty  companion  would 
have  told  Lady  Cuxhaven  that  she  herself  had  helped  to  finish  up  the 
ample  luncheon ;  but  no  such  idea  seemed  to  come  into  her  mind. 
She  only  said, — "  Poor  dear  !  she  is  not  quite  the  thing  yet ;  has  got 
a  headache,  she  says.  I  am  going  to  put  her  down  on  my  bed,  to 
see  if  she  can  get  a  little  sleep." 


A   NOVICE  AMONGST  THE  GREAT   FOLK.  15 

Molly  saw  Lady  Cuxhaven  say  something  in  a  lialf-laufjliiiig 
mauucr  to  "  Clari',"  as  sbo  passod  her  ;  and  the  child  could  not  keep 
from  tormenting  herself  by  fancying  that  tho  words  spoken  sounded 
wonderfully  like  "  Over-eaten  herself,  I  suspect."  However,  she 
felt  too  poorly  to  worr}-  herself  long ;  tho  littlo  whito  bed  in  tho  cool 
and  pretty  room  had  too  many  attractions  for  her  aching  head.  The 
muslin  curtains  flapped  softly  from  time  to  time  in  the  scented  air 
that  came  through  tho  open  windows.  Clare  covered  her  up  with  a 
light  shawl,  and  darkened  the  room.  As  she  was  going  away  Molly 
roused  herself  to  say,  "  Please,  ma'am,  don't  let  them  go  away 
without  me.  Please  ask  somebody  to  waken  mc  if  I  go  to  sleep.  I 
am  to  go  back  with  Miss  Brownuigs." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  it,  dear ;  I'll  tako  care,"  said 
Clare,  turning  round  at  tho  door,  and  kissing  her  hand  to  little 
anxious  Molly.  And  then  she  went  away,  and  thought  no  more  about 
it.  Tho  carriages  carao  round  at  half-past  four,  hunied  a  little  by 
Lady  Cumnor,  who  had  suddenly  become  tired  of  the  business  of 
entertaining,  and  annoyed  at  the  repetition  of  indisciiminating  admi- 
ration. 

"  "Why  cot  have  both  carnages  out,  mamma,  and  get  rid  of  them 
all  at  once  ?  "  said  Lady  Cuxhaven.  "  This  going  by  instalments  is 
the  most  tiresome  thing  that  could  be  imagined."  So  at  last  there 
had  been  a  great  huri-y  and  an  unmethodical  way  of  packing  off  ever}- 
one  at  once.  Miss  Bro^vning  had  gone  in  the  chariot  (or  "chawyot," 
as  Lady  Cumnor  called  it ; — it  rhymed  to  her  daughter.  Lady 
Hawyot — or  Harriet,  as  the  name  was  spelt  in  the  Pecnirfc),  and 
Miss  Phoebe  had  been  speeded  along  with  several  other  guests,  away 
in  a  great  roomy  family  conveyance,  of  tho  kind  which  wo  should  now 
call  an  "  omnibus."  Each  thought  that  Molly  Gibson  was  with  the 
other,  and  the  tnith  was,  that  she  lay  fast  asleep  on  Mrs.  Kirk- 
patrick's  bed — Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  ne'e  Clare. 

The  housemaids  came  in  to  arrange  the  room.  Their  talkin"^ 
aroused  Molly,  who  sat  up  on  tho  bed,  and  tried  to  push  back  the 
hair  fi'om  her  hot  forehead,  and  to  remember  where  she  was.  She 
dropped  down  on  her  feet  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  women,  and  said, — "Please,  how  soon  are  we  going 
away '?  " 

"  Bless  us  and  save  us  !  who'd  ha'  thought  of  any  one  being  in 
tho  bed  ?  Are  you  one  of  the  HoUingford  ladies,  my  dear?  They 
are  all  gone  this  hour  or  more  !  " 


16  WrV'ES  AND   DAFGHTEES. 

"  Oh,  clear,  what  shall  I  do  ?  That  lady  they  caU  Clare  promised 
to  waken  me  in  time.  Papa  will  so  wonder  where  I  am,  and  I  don't 
know  what  Betty  will  say." 

The  child  hegan  to  cry,  and  the  housemaids  looked  at  each  other 
in  some  dismay  and  much  sympathy.  Just  then,  they  heard  Mrs. 
Kirkpatrick's  step  along  the  passages,  approaching.  She  was  singing 
some  little  Italian  air  in  a  low  musical  voice,  coming  to  her  bedroom 
to  dress  for  dinner.  One  housemaid  said  to  the  other,  with  a 
knowing  look,  "  Best  leave  it  to  her  ;  "  and  they  passed  on  to  their 
work  in  the  other  rooms. 

Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  opened  the  door,  and  stood  aghast  at  the  sight 
of  Molly. 

"  Why,  I  quite  forgot  you  !  "  she  said  at  length,  "  Nay,  don't 
cry  ;  you'll  make  yourself  not  fit  to  he  seen.  Of  course  I  must  take 
the  consequences  of  your  over-sleeping  yourself,  and  if  I  can't  manage 
to  get  you  hack  to  HoUingford  to-night,  you  shall  sleep  with  me,  and 
we'll  do  our  best  to  send  you  home  to-morrow  morning." 

"But  papa!"  sobbed  out  Molly.  "He  always  wants  me  to 
make  tea  for  him  ;  and  I  have  no  night-things." 

"  Well,  don't  go  and  make  a  piece  of  work  about  what  can't  be 
helped  now.  I'll  lend  you  night-things,  and  your  papa  must  do 
without  your  making  tea  for  him  to-night.  And  another  time  don't 
over-sleep  j^ourself  in  a  strange  house ;  you  may  not  always  find 
yourself  among  such  hospitable  people  as  they  are  here.  Why  now, 
if  you  don't  cry  and  make  a  figure  of  yourself,  I'll  ask  if  you  maj"^ 
come  in  to  dessert  with  Master  Smythe  and  the  little  ladies.  You 
shall  go  into  the  nursery,  and  have  some  tea  with  them ;  and  then 
you  must  come  back  here  and  brush  your  hair  and  make  yourself 
tidy.  I  think  it  is  a  very  fine  thing  for  you  to  be  stopping  in  such  a 
grand  house  as  this  ;  many  a  little  girl  would  like  nothing  better." 

During  this  speech  she  was  arranging  her  toilette  for  dinner — 
taking  ofi"  her  black  morning  gown  ;  putting  on  her  dressing-gown ; 
shaking  her  long  soft  auburn  hair  over  her  shoulders,  and  glancing 
about  the  room  in  search  of  various  articles  of  her  dress, — a  running 
flow  of  easy  talk  came  babbling  out  all  the  time. 

"  I  have  a  little  girl  of  my  own,  dear  !  I  don't  know  what  she 
would  not  give  to  be  staying  here  at  Lord  Cumnor's  with  me ;  but, 
instead  of  that,  she  has  to  spend  her  holidays  at  school ;  and  yet  you 
are  looking  as  miserable  as  can  be  at  the  thought  of  stopping  for  just 
one  night.     I  really  have  been  as  busy  as  can  be  with  those  tiresome 


A   NOVICE  AMONGST  THE  CHEAT  FOLK.  17 

— tlioso  good  Inillcrt,  I  mean,  from  HoUingforJ — and  ono  can't  think 
of  everything  at  a  time." 

Molly — only  child  us  she  was — hud  stopped  her  tears  at  the 
montion  of  that  little  girl  of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's,  and  now  she  ven- 
tured to  say, — 

"  Arc  you  nianued,  lua'am  ;  I  thought  she  called  you  Clare  ?  " 

In  high  good-humour  ^Irs.  Kirkpatrick  made  reply  : — "  I  don't 
look  as  if  I  was  married,  do  1?  Kvi-ry  one  is  surprised.  And  yet 
I  have  been  a  widow  for  seven  months  now  :  and  not  a  grey  hair  on 
my  head,  though  Lady  Cuxhavcn,  who  is  younger  than  I,  has  ever 
so  many.  " 

"  Why  do  they  call  you  '  Clare  ?  '  "  continued  Molly,  finding  her 
80  affable  and  communicative. 

"  Because  I  lived  with  them  when  I  was  Miss  Clare.  It  is  a 
pretty  name,  isn't  it '?  I  married  a  Mr.  Kirkpatrick  ;  he  was  only 
a  curate,  poor  fellow ;  but  he  was  of  a  ver}'  good  family,  and  if  three 
of  his  relations  had  died  without  children  I  should  have  been  a 
baronet's  wife.  But  Providence  did  not  see  fit  to  permit  it ;  and  we 
must  always  resign  ourselves  to  what  is  decreed.  Two  of  his  cousins 
married,  and  had  large  families;  and  poor  dear  Kirkpatrick  died, 
leaving  me  a  widow." 

"  You  have  a  little  girl '?"  asked  Molly. 

"  Yes  :  darling  Cynthia  !  I  wish  you  could  see  her ;  she  is  my 
only  comfort  now.  If  I  have  time  I  will  show  you  her  picture  when 
we  come  up  to  bed  ;  but  I  must  go  now.  It  does  not  do  to  keep 
Lady  Cumuor  waiting  a  moment,  and  she  asked  mc  to  be  down  early, 
to  help  with  some  of  the  people  in  the  house.  Now  I  shall  ring  this 
bell,  and  when  the  housemaid  comes,  ask  her  to  take  you  into  the 
nursery,  and  to  tell  Lady  Cuxhaven's  nurse  who  you  are.  And  then 
you'll  have  tea  with  the  little  ladies,  and  come  in  with  them  to 
dessert.  There  !  I'm  sorry  you've  overslept  yourself,  and  are  left 
hero  ;  but  give  mc  a  kiss,  and  don't  cr}* — you  really  arc  rather  a 
pretty  child,  though  you've  not  got  Cynthia's  colouring !  Oh, 
Nanny,  would  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to  take  this  young  lady — 
(what's  your  name,  my  dear?  (ribson  ?V — Miss  Gibson,  to  Mrs. 
Dyson,  in  the  nursery,  and  ask  her  to  allow  her  to  drink  tea  with  the 
young  ladies  there  ;  and  to  send  her  in  with  them  to  dessert.  Ill 
explain  it  all  to  my  lady." 

Nanny's  face  brightened  out  of  its  gloom  when  she  heard  the 
name   Gibson  ;    and,  having  ascertained  from  ilolly  that  she  was 

Vol.  I.  2 


18  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"tlic  doctor's"  child,  she  showed  more  willingness  to  comply  with 
Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  request  than  was  usual  with  her. 

Molly  was  an  ohligiug  girl,  and  fond  of  children  ;  so,  as  long  as 
she  was  in  the  nursery,  she  got  on  pretty  well,  being  obedient  to  the 
wishes  of  the  supreme  power,  and  eyen  very  useful  to  Mrs.  Dyson, 
by  playing  at  tricks,  and  thus  keeping  a  little  one  quiet  while  its 
brothers  aoid  sisters  were  being  arrayed  in  gay  attire, — lace  and 
muslin,  and  velvet,  and  brilliant  broad  ribbons. 

"  Now,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  Dyson,  when  her  own  especial  charge 
were  all  ready,  ' '  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  You  have  not  got  another 
frock  here,  have  you  ?  "  No,  indeed,  she  had  not ;  nor  if  she  had 
had  one,  could  it  have  been  of  a  smarter  nature  than  her  present 
thick  white  dimity.  So  she  could  only  wash  her  face  and  hands,  and 
submit  to  the  nurse's  brushing  and  perfuming  her  hair.  She  thought 
she  would  rather  have  stayed  in  the  park  all  night  long,  and  slept 
under  the  beautiful  quiet  cedar,  than  have  to  undergo  the  unknown 
ordeal  of  "  going  down  to  dessert,"  which  was  evidently  regarded 
both  by  children  and  nurses  as  the  event  of  the  day.  At  length  there 
was  a  summons  from  a  footman,  and  Mrs.  Dyson,  in  a  rustling  silk 
gown,  marshalled  her  convoy,  and  set  sail  for  the  dining-room  door. 

There  was  a  large  party  of  gentlemen  and  ladies  sitting  round  the 
decked  table,  in  the  brilliantly  lighted  room.  Each  dainty  little 
child  ran  up  to  its  mother,  or  aunt,  or  particular  friend ;  but  Molly 
had  no  one  to  go  to. 

"  Who  is  that  tall  girl  in  the  thick  white  frock  ?  Not  one  of  the 
children  of  the  house,  I  think  ?  " 

The  lady  addressed  put  up  her  glass,  gazed  at  Molly,  and  dropped 
it  in  an  instant.  "  A  French  girl,  I  should  imagine.  I  know  Lady 
Cuxhaven  was  inquiring  for  one  to  bring  up  with  her  little  girls,  that 
they  might  get  a  good  accent  early.  Poor  little  woman,  she  looks 
wild  and  strange  !  "  And  the  speaker,  who  sate  next  to  Lord  Cum- 
nor,  made  a  little  sign  to  Molly  to  come  to  her ;  Molly  crept  up  to 
her  as  to  the  first  shelter  ;  but  when  the  lady  began  talking  to  her 
in  French,  she  blushed  violently,  and  said  in  a  very  low  voice, — 

"  I  don't  understand  French.     I'm  only  Molly  Gibson,  ma'am." 

"  Molly  Gibson !  "  said  the  lady,  out  loud ;  as  if  that  was  not 
much  of  an  explanation. 

Lord  Cumnor  caught  the  words  and  the  tone. 

"  Oh,  ho !  "  said  he.  "Arc  you  the  little  girl  who  has  been 
sleeping  in  my  bed  ?" 


A   NOVICE   A.MOX(;ST  TUK  OUKAT   FOLK. 


td 


lie  imitated  tlio  deep  voice  of  the  fabulous  bear,  who  asks  tliis 
question  of  the  little  child  iu  the  story  ;  but  Molly  had  never  read 
tho  **  Three  Bears,"  and  fancied  that  his  anger  was  real  ;  she 
trembled  a  little,  and  drew  nearer  to  the  kind  lady  who  had  beckoned 
her  as  to  a  n-fu^'e.  Lord  C'umnor  was  very  fynd  of  f,'ettiug  hold  of 
what  he  fancied  was  a  joke,  and  working  his  idea  threadbare  ;  so  all 
tlie  time  the  ladies  were  in  the  room  ho  kept  on  his  running  fire  at 
Molly,  alluding  to  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  the  Seven  Sleepers,  and  any 
other  fiiiuous  sleeper  that  came  into  his  head.  He  had  no  idea  of 
the  misery  his  jokes  were  to  the  sensitive  girl,  who  ah-eady  thought 
herself  a  miserable  sinner,  for  having  slept  on,  when  she  ought  to 
have  been  awake.  If  Molly  had  been  iu  tho  habit  of  putting  two 
and  two  together,  she  might  have  found  an  excuse  for  herself,  by  re- 
membering that  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  had  promised  faithfully  to  awaken 
lior  in  time ;  but  all  the  girl  thought  of  was,  how  httlc  they  wanted 
her  in  this  grand  house  ;  how  she  must  seem  like  a  careless  iutrader 
who  had  no  business  there.  Once  or  twice  she  wondered  where  her 
father  was.  and  whether  he  was  missing  her  ;  but  the  thought  of  the 
familiar  happiness  of  home  brought  such  a  choking  iu  her  thi-oat, 
that  she  felt  she  must  not  give  way  to  it,  for  fear  of  bursting  out 
crving ;  and  she  had  instinct  enough  to  feel  that,  as  she  was  left  at 
the  Towers,  the  less  trouble  she  gave,  the  more  she  kept  herself  out 
of  observation,  tho  better. 

She  followed  tho  ladies  out  of  tho  dining-room,  almost  hoping 
that  no  one  would  see  her.  But  that  was  impossible,  and  she  im- 
niodiately  became  the  subject  of  conversation  between  the  awful  Lady 
Cumuor  and  her  kind  neighbour  at  dinner. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  thought  this  young  lady  was  French  when  I 
first  saw  her '?  she  has  got  the  black  hair  and  eyelashes,  and  grey 
eyes,  and  colourless  complexion  which  one  meets  with  iu  some  parts 
of  France,  and  I  know  Lady  Cuxharen  was  trying  to  find  a  well- 
educated  girl  who  would  be  a  pleasant  companion  to  her  children." 

"  No  !  "  said  Lady  Cumuor,  looking  very  stern,  as  Molly  thought. 
"  She  is  the  daughter  of  our  medical  man  at  HoUingford ;  she  came 
with  the  school  visitors  this  morning,  and  she  was  overcome  by  the 
heat  and  fell  asleep  in  Clare's  room,  and  somehow  managed  to 
over-sleep  herself,  and  did  not  waken  up  till  all  the  carriages  were 
gone.  We  will  send  her  home  to-morrow  morning,  but  for  to-night 
she  must  stay  here,  and  Clare  is  kind  enough  to  say  she  may  sleep 
with  her." 


20  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

There  was  an  implied  blame  running  through  this  speech,  that 
Molly  felt  like  needle-points  all  over  her.  Lady  Cuxhaven  came  up 
at  this  moment.  Her  tone  was  as  deep,  her  manner  of  speaking  as 
abrupt  and  authoritative,  as  her  mother's,  but  Molly  felt  the  kinder 
nature  underneath. 

"  How  are  you  now,  my  dear  ?  You  look  better  than  you  did 
under  the  cedar-tree.  So  you're  to  stop  here  to-night  ?  Clare, 
don't  you  think  we  could  find  some  of  those  books  of  engravings  that 
would  interest  Miss  Gibson.'' 

Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  came  gliding  up  to  the  place  where  Molly  stood  ; 
and  began  petting  her  with  pretty  words  and  actions,  while  Lady 
Cuxhaven  turned  over  heavy  volumes  in  search  of  one  that  might 
interest  the  girl. 

"  Poor  darling  !  I  saw  you  come  into  the  dining-room,  looking 
so  shy  ;  and  I  wanted  you  to  come  near  me,  but  I  could  not  make  a 
sign  to  you,  because  Lord  Cuxhaven  was  speaking  to  me  at  the  time, 
telling  me  about  his  travels.  Ah,  here  is  a  nice  book — Loihjcs 
Portraits;  now  I'll  sit  by  you  and  tell  you  who  they  all  are,  and  all 
about  them.  Don't  trouble  yourself  any  more,  dear  Lady  Cuxhaven  ; 
I'll  take  charge  of  her  ;  pray  leave  her  to  me  !  " 

Molly  grew  hotter  and  hotter  as  these  last  words  met  her  ear. 
If  they  would  only  leave  her  alone,  and  not  labour  at  being  kind  to 
her;  would  "not  trouble  themselves"  about  her!  These  words 
of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick" s  seemed  to  quench  the  gratitude  she  was  feeling 
to  Lady  Cuxhaven  for  looking  for  something  to  amuse  her.  But,  of 
course,  it  was  a  trouble,  and  she  ought  never  to  have  been  there. 

By-and-by,  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  was  called  away  to  accompany  Lady 
Agnes'  song ;  and  then  Molly  really  had  a  few  minutes'  enjoyment. 
She  could  look  round  the  room,  unobserved,  and,  sure,  never  was 
any  place  out  of  a  king's  house  so  grand  and  magnificent.  Large 
mirrors,  velvet  curtains,  pictures  in  their  gilded  frames,  a  multitude 
of  dazzling  lights  decorated  the  vast  saloon,  and  the  floor  was 
studded  with  groups  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all  dressed  in  gorgeous 
attire.  Suddenly  Molly  bethought  her  of  the  children  whom  she 
had  accompanied  into  the  dining-room,  and  to  whose  ranks  she  had 
appeared  to  belong, — where  were  they  ?  Gone  to  bed  an  hour 
before,  at  some  quiet  signal  from  their  mother.  Molly  wondered  if 
she  might  go,  too — if  she  could  ever  find  her  way  back  to  the  haven 
of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  bedroom.  But  she  was  at  some  distance  from 
the  door  ;  a  long  way  from  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  to  whom  she  felt  her- 


A   NOYirt:   AMON(}ST  THK   OUEAT    FOLK.  21 

self  to  belong  more  than  to  any  one  else.  Far,  too,  from  Lady  Cux- 
liavon,  and  tlio  tcrrililo  Laily  Cumnor,  and  lur  jocoso  and  f,'ood- 
naturod  lord.  So  Molly  sato  on,  turning  over  pictures  which  she 
did  not  SCO  ;  lier  heart  growing  henvior  and  heavier  in  the  desolation 
of  all  this  f^'randcur.  Presently  a  footman  entered  thi;  room,  and 
after  a  moment's  looking  about  him,  he  went  uj)  to  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick, 
where  she  sato  at  the  piano,  the  centre  of  the  musical  portion  of  the 
company,  ready  to  accompany  any  singer,  and  smiling  pleasantly  as 
she  willingly  acceded  to  all  requests.  .She  came  now  towards  Molly, 
in  her  corner,  and  said  to  her, — 

"  Do  you  know,  darling,  your  papa  has  come  for  you,  and  brought 
your  pony  for  you  to  rido  home ;  so  I  shall  lose  my  little  bedfellow, 
for  I  suppose  you  must  go." 

Go  !  was  there  a  question  of  it  in  IMully's  mind,  as  she  stood  up 
quiveriug,  sparkling,  almost  crying  out  loud.  She  was  brought  to 
her  senses,  though,  by  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  next  words.  * 

"  You  must  go  and  wish  Lady  Cumnor  good-night,  you  know, 
my  dear,  and  thank  her  ladyship  for  her  kindness  to  you.  She  is 
there,  near  that  statue,  talking  to  Mr.  Courtenay." 

Yes !  she  was  there — forty  feet  away — a  hundred  miles  away  ! 
All  that  blank  space  had  to  be  crossed ;  and  then  a  speech  to  be 
made ! 

"  Must  I  go  ?  "  asked  Molly,  in  the  most  pitiful  and  pleading 
voice  possible. 

"  Yes ;  make  haste  about  it ;  there  is  nothing  so  fonuidable  iu 
it,  is  there?"  replied  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  in  a  sharper  voice  than 
before,  aware  that  they  were  wanting  her  at  the  piano,  and  anxious 
to  get  the  business  iu  hand  done  as  soon  as  possible. 

Molly  stood  still  for  a  minute,  then,  looking  up,  she  said, 
softly, — 

"  Would  you  mind  coming  with  mo.  please  ?  " 

"No!  not  I!"  said  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  seeing  that  her  com- 
pliance was  likely  to  be  the  most  spetdy  way  of  gettiug  through 
the  affair ;  so  she  took  Molly's,  hand,  and,  on  the  way,  iu  passing 
the  group  at  the  piano,  she  said,  smiling,  in  her  pretty  genteel 
manner, — 

"  Our  little  friend  hero  is  shy  and  modest,  and  wants  me  to  ac- 
company her  to  Ijady  Cumnor  to  wish  good-night ;  her  father  has 
■come  for  her,  and  she  is  going  away." 

Molly  did  not  know  how  it  was  afterwards,  but  she  pulled  her 


22  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTEES. 

hand  out  of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  on  hearing  these  words,  and  going  a 
step  or  two  in  advance  came  up  to  Lady  Cumnor,  grand  in  purple 
velvet,  and  dropping  a  curtsey,  almost  after  the  fashion  of  the  school- 
children, she  said, — 

"  My  lady,  papa  is  come,  and  I  am  going  away ;  and,  my  lady, 
I  wish  you  good-night,  and  thank  you  for  your  kindness.  Your 
ladyship's  kindness,  I  mean,"  she  said,  con-ecting  herself  as  she 
remembered  Miss  Browning's  particular  instructions  as  to  the  eti- 
quette to  be  observed  to  earls  and  countesses,  and  their  honourable 
progeny,  as  they  were  given  that  morning  on  the  road  to  the 
Towers. 

She  got  out  of  the  saloon  somehow ;  she  believed  afterwards,  on 
thinking  about  it,  that  she  had  never  bidden  good-by  to  Lady  Cux- 
haven,  or  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  or  "  all  the  rest  of  them,"  as  she  irre- 
verently styled  them  in  her  thoughts. 

*Mr.  Gibson  was  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  when  Molly  ran  in, 
rather  to  the  stately  Mrs.  Brown's  discomfiture.  She  threw  her 
arms  round  her  father's  neck.  "  Oh,  papa,  papa,  papa  !  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  come ;  "  and  then  she  burst  out  crying,  stroking  his 
face  almost  hysterically  as  if  to  make  sure  he  was  there. 

"Why,  what  a  noodle  you  are,  Molly!  Did  you  think  I  was 
going  to  give  up  my  little  girl  to  live  at  the  Towers  all  the  rest  of 
her  life  ?  You  make  as  much  work  about  my  coming  for  you,  as  if 
you  thought  I  had.  Make  haste,  now,  and  get  on  your  bonnet. 
Mrs.  Brown,  may  I  ask  you  for  a  shawl,  or  a  plaid,  or  a  wrap  of 
some  kind  to  pin  about  her  for  a  petticoat  ?  " 

He  did  not  mention  that  he  had  come  home  from  a  long  round 
not  half  an  hour  before,  a  round  from  which  he  had  returned  dinner- 
less  and  hungry  ;  but,  on  finding  that  Molly  had  not  come  back  from 
the  Towers,  he  had  ridden  his  tired  horse  round  by  Miss  Brownings', 
and  found  them  in  self- reproachful,  helpless  dismay.  He  would  not 
wait  to  listen  to  their  tearful  apologies ;  he  galloped  home,  had  a 
fresh  horse  and  Molly's  pony  saddled,  and  though  Betty  called  after 
him  with  a  riding-skirt  for  the  child,  when  he  was  not  ten  yards 
from  his  ovm  stable-door,  he  refused  to  turn  back  for  it,  but  went 
off,  as  Dick  the  stableman  said,  "  muttering  to  himself  awful." 

Mrs.  Brown  had  her  bottle  of  wine  out,  and  her  plate  of  cake, 
before  Molly  came  back  from  her  long  expedition  to  Mrs.  Kirk- 
patrick's room,  "  pretty  nigh  on  to  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,''  ^s  the 
housekeeper  informed  the  impatient  father,  as  he  waited  for  his  child 


A    NOVIC!-:    AMONGST  TOE   CUKAT   lOI-K.  23 

to  como  (lowii  ftrmyod  iu  her  morning's  finery  with  the  gloss  of  new- 
ness worn  olV.  ^Ir.  Gibson  was  a  favourito  in  all  the  Towers'  house- 
hold, as  family  doctors  penerally  aro  ;  brinj^iug  hopes  of  relief  at 
times  of  anxiety  and  distress ;  and  Mrs.  Hrown,  who  was  subject  to 
fjout,  especially  delighted  in  potting  him  whenever  ho  would  allow 
hor.  She  oven  wont  out  into  the  stable-yard  to  pin  Molly  up  in  the 
nhawl.  as  she  sate  upon  the  ntugh-coated  pony,  and  hazarded  the 
somewhat  safe  conjecture, — 

"  I  daresay  she'll  bo  happier  at  home,  Mr.  Gibson,"'  as  they 
rode  away. 

Once  out  into  the  park  Molly  strack  hor  pony,  and  urged  him  oa 
as  hard  as  he  would  go.     Mr.  Gibson  called  out  at  last : 

"  Molly  !  we're  coming  to  the  rabbit-holes  ;  it's  not  safe  to  go 
at  such  a  pace.  Stop."  And  as  she  drew  rein  ho  rode  up  alongside 
of  her. 

'•  We're  getting  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and  it's  not  safe 
riding  fast  here." 

"  Oh  !  i)apa,  I  never  was  so  glad  in  all  my  life.  I  felt  like  a 
lighted  candle  when  they're  putting  the  extinguisher  on  it." 

"  Did  you  ?     How  d'ye  know  what  the  caudle  feels  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  but  I  did."  And  again,  after  a  pause,  she 
said, — **  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  be  here !  It  is  so  pleasant  riding  hero 
in  the  open  free,  fresh  air,  crushing  out  such  a  good  smell  from  the 
dewy  grass.     Papa  !  are  you  there  '?     I  can't  see  you." 

He  rode  close  up  alongside  of  her :  ho  was  not  sure  but  what  she 
might  be  afraid  of  riiliug  in  the  dark  shadows,  so  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  hei-s. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  to  feel  you,"  squeezing  his  hand  hard. 
"  Papa,  I  should  like  to  get  a  chain  like  Ponto's,  just  as  long  as 
your  longest  round,  and  then  I  could  fasten  us  two  to  each  end  of  it, 
juid  when  I  wanted  you  I  could  pull,  and  if  you  did  not  want  to  come, 
you  could  pull  back  again ;  but  I  should  know  you  knew  I  wanted 
you,  and  wo  could  never  lose  each  other." 

''  I'm  rather  lost  iu  that  plan  of  yours  ;  the  details,  as  you  state 
them,  are  a  little  puzzling  ;  but  if  I  make  them  out  rightly,  I  am  to 
go  about  the  couutr}',  like  the  donkeys  on  the  common,  with  a  clog 
fastened  to  my  hind  leg." 

"  I  don't  mind  your  calling  mo  a  clog,  if  only  we  were  fastened 
together." 

"  But  I  do  mind  you  calling  mc  a  doukcy,"  he  replied. 


24  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  I  never  did.  At  least  I  did  not  mean  to.  But  it  is  such  a 
comfort  to  know  that  I  may  be  as  rude  as  I  like." 

"  Is  that  what  you've  learnt  from  the  grand  company  you've 
been  keeping  to-day  ?  I  expected  to  find  you  so  polite  and  cere- 
monious, that  I  read  a  few  chapters  of  Sir  Charles  Grandisvn,  in 
order  to  bring  myself  up  to  concert  pitch." 

"  Oh,  I  do  hope  I  shall  never  be  a  lord  or  a  lady." 

"  "Well,  to  comfort  j'ou,  I'll  tell  you  this  :  I'm  sure  you'll  never 
be  a  lord ;  and  I  tliink  the  chances  are  a  thousand  to  one  against 
your  ever  being  the  other,  in  the  sense  in  which  you  mean." 

"  I  should  lose  myself  every  time  I  had  to  fetch  my  bonnet,  or 
else  get  tired  of  long  passages  and  great  staircases  long  before  I 
could  go  out  walking." 

"  But  you'd  have  your  lady's-maid,  you  know." 

"  Do  you  know,  papa,  I  tliink  lady's-maids  are  worse  than  ladies. 
I  should  not  mind  being  a  housekeeper  so  much." 

"  No  !  the  jam-cupboards  and  dessert  would  lie  very  conveniently 
to  one's  hand,"  replied  her  father,  meditatively.  "  But  Mrs.  Brown 
tells  me  that  the  thought  of  the  dinners  often  keeps  her  from  sleeping  ; 
there's  that  anxiety  to  be  taken  into  consideration.  Still,  in  eveiy 
condition  of  life,  there  are  heavy  cares  and  responsibilities." 

"Well!  I  suppose  so,"  said  Molly,  gravely.  "I  know  Betty 
says  I  wear  her  life  out  with  the  green  stains  I  get  in  my  frocks 
from  sitting  in  the  cheny-trce." 

"  And  Miss  Browning  said  she  had  fretted  herself  into  a  headache 
with  thinking  how  they  had  left  you  behind.  I'm  afraid  you'll  be 
as  bad  as  a  bill  of  fare  to  them  to-night.  How  did  it  all  happen, 
goosey?" 

"  Oh,  I  went  by  myself  to  see  the  gardens;  they  are  so  beauti- 
ful !  and  I  lost  myself,  and  sat  down  to  rest  under  a  gi'eat  tree  ;  and 
Lady  Cuxhaven  and  that  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  came ;  and  Mrs.  Kirk- 
patrick  brought  me  some  lunch,  and  then  put  me  to  sleep  on  her 
bed, — and  I  thought  she  would  waken  me  in  time,  and  she  did  not  ; 
and  so  they'd  all  gone  away  ;  and  when  they  planned  for  me  to  stop 
till  to-morrow,  I  didn't  like  saying  how  very,  very  much  I  wanted  to 
go  home, — but  I  kept  thinking  how  you  would  wonder  where  I  was." 

"  Then  it  was  rather  a  dismal  day  of  pleasure,  goosey,  eh  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  morning.  I  shall  never  forget  the  morning  in  that 
garden.  But  I  was  never  so  unhappy  in  all  my  life,  as  I  have  been 
all  this  long  afternoon." 


A   NOVICK   AMOK(;ST  TIIK   (HIKAT    lOLK.  25 

Mr.  (iibsou  thought  it  his  duty  to  ride  round  by  tho  Towers,  aud 
pay  n  visit  of  iipology  iind  tlinnks  to  the  fuinily,  bi'fure  they  left  for 
Lundon.  He  found  tliein  all  on  tlie  wing,  and  no  one  was  sulhciently 
at  liberty  to  listen  to  his  grateful  civilities  but  Mra.  Kirkpatrick,  who, 
altli(>uj,'h  she  was  to  accompany  Tiady  Cuxhavcn,  and  pay  a  visit  to 
her  former  pupil,  made  leisure  enough  to  receive  Mr.  (iibson,  on 
behalf  of  tho  family  ;  and  assured  hira  of  her  faithful  remembranco 
of  his  great  professional  attention  to  her  iu  former  days  in  the  most 
winuiuii  manner. 


(     2G_   ) 


CHAPTER  III. 

MOLLY    GIESOX'S    CHILDHOOD. 

Sixteen  years  before  this  time,  all  lioUingford  had  been  disturbed  to 
its  foundations  by  the  intelligence  that  Mr.  Hall,  the  skilful  doctor, 
who  had  attended  them  all  their  days,  was  going  to  take  a  partner.  It 
was  no  use  reasoning  to  them  on  the  subject ;  so  Mr.  Browning  the 
vicar,  Mr.  Sheepshanks  (Lord  Cumnor's  agent),  and  Mr.  Hall  him- 
self, the  masculine  reasoners  of  the  little  society,  left  off  the  attempt, 
feeling  that  the  Che  sarli  mm  would  prove  more  silencing  to  the 
murmurs  than  many  arguments.  Mr.  Hall  had  told  his  faithful 
patients  that,  even  with  the  strongest  spectacles,  his  sight  was  not 
to  be  depended  upon  ;  and  they  might  have  found  out  for  them- 
selves that  his  hearing  was  very  defective,  although,  on  this  point, 
he  obstinately  adhered  to  his  own  opinion,  and  v/as  fi-equently  heard 
to  regret  the  carelessness  of  people's  communication  nowadays,  "like 
writing  on  blotting-paper,  all  the  words  running  into  each  other,"  he 
would  say.  And  more  than  once  Mr.  Hall  had  had  attacks  of  a, 
suspicious  nature, — "rheumatism"  he  used  to  call  them ;  but  he 
prescribed  for  himself  as  if  they  had  been  gout,  which  had  prevented 
his  immediate  attention  to  imperative  summonses.  But,  blind  and 
deaf,  and  rheumatic  as  he  might  be,  he  V!as  still  Mr.  Hall  the  doctor 
who  could  heal  all  theii-  ailments — unless  they  died  meanwhile — and 
he  had  no  right  to  speak  of  growdng  old,  and  taking  a  partner. 

He  went  very  steadily  to  work  all  the  same ;  advertising  in 
medical  journals,  reading  testimonials,  sifting  character  and  qualifi- 
cations ;  and  just  when  the  elderly  maiden  ladies  of  HoUiugford 
thought  that  they  had  convinced  their  contemporary  that  he  was 
as  young  as  ever,  he  startled  them  by  bringing  his  nev/  partner,  Mr. 
Gibson,  to  call  upon  them,  and  began  "  slyly,"  as  these  ladies  said,  to 
introduce  him  into  practice.    And  "who  was  this  Mr.  Gibson  '?"  they 


^  MOIiLY  GIBSON'S  CHILDHOOD.  27 

ftskoil,  and  echo  might  nnswcr  the  qncstion,  if  she  likcil,  for  no  one 
else  (lid.  No  <tno  over  in  all  his  life  know  an}-thinR  more  of  his  antc- 
codouts  tlmu  the  llollini^'ford  pcoiilo  niifiht  liavo  found  out  the  first 
day  thi'y  saw  him  :  that  ho  was  tall,  grave,  rather  handsome  than 
otherwise ;  thin  onougli  to  he  called  "  a  very  geutcel  iigarc,"  in 
those  days,  heforo  muscular  Christianity  had  come  into  vogne ; 
speaking  ^vith  a  slight  Scotch  accent ;  and,  as  one  good  lady  oh- 
scrved,  "  so  very  trite  iu  his  conversation,"  hy  which  she  meant 
sarcastic.  As  to  liis  hirth,  parentage,  and  education, — the  favourite 
conjecture  of  Hollingford  society  was,  that  he  was  the  illegitimate 
son  of  a  Scotch  duke,  hy  a  Frenchwoman  ;  and  the  grounds  for  this 
conjecture  were  these  : — He  spok»  with  a  Scotch  accent ;  therefore, 
he  nmst  ho  Scotch.  He  had  a  very  genteel  appearance,  an  elegant 
figure,  and  was  apt — so  his  ill-wishers  said — to  give  himself  airs  ; 
therefore,  his  father  must  have  been  some  person  of  quality ;  and, 
that  granted,  nothing  was  easier  than  to  mn  this  supposition  up  all 
the  notes  of  the  scale  of  the  peerage, — baronet,  baron,  viscount, 
carl,  marquis,  duke.  Higher  they  dared  not  go,  though  one  old 
lady,  acquainted  with  English  history,  hazarded  the  remark,  that 
"  she  believed  that  one  or  two  of  the  Stuarts — hem — had  not  always 
been, — ahem  —  quite  correct  in  their — conduct;  and  she  fancied 
such — ahem — things  ran  in  families."  But,  in  popular  opinion,  Mr. 
Gibson's  father  always  remained  a  duke ;  nothing  more. 

Then  his  mother  must  have  been  a  Frenchwoman,  because  his 
hair  was  so  black  ;  and  he  was  so  sallow ;  and  because  he  had  been 
in  Paris.  All  this  might  be  true,  or  might  not ;  nobody  ever  knew, 
or  found  out  anything  more  about  him  than  what  Mr.  Hall  told  them, 
namely,  that  his  professional  qualifications  were  as  high  as  hismoml 
character,  and  that  both  were  far  above  the  average,  as  Mr.  Hall  had 
taken  pains  to  ascertain  before  introducing  him  to  his  patients.  The 
popularity  of  this  world  is  as  transient  as  its  glory,  as  3Ir.  Hall 
found  out  before  the  first  year  of  his  partnership  was  over.  He  had 
plenty  of  leisure  left  to  him  now  to  nurse  his  gout  and  cherish  bis 
eyesight.  The  younger  doctor  had  carried  the  day;  nearly  every  one 
sent  for  Mr.  Gibson.  Even  at  the  gi'cat  houses — even  at  the  Towers, 
that  greatest  of  all,  where  Mr.  Hall  had  introduced  his  new  partner 
with  fear  and  trembling,  with  untold  anxiety  as  to  his  behaviour,  and 
the  impression  ho  might  make  on  my  lord  the  Earl,  and  my  lady  the 
Countess,  Mr.  Gibson  was  received  at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth 
with  as  much  welcome  respect  for  bis  professional  skill  as  ^Ir.  Hall 


28  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS.  * 

himself  had  ever  hcen.  Nay — and  this  was  a  little  too  much  for 
even  the  kind  old  doctor's  good  temper — Mr.  Gibson  had  even  been 
invited  once  to  dinner  at  the  Towers,  to  dine  with  the  great  Sir 
Astley,  the  head  of  the  profession  !  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Hall  had  been 
asked  as  well ;  but  he  was  laid  up  just  then  with  his  gout  (since  he 
had  had  a  partner  the  rheumatism  had  been  allowed  to  develope 
itself),  and  he  had  not  been  able  to  go.  Poor  Mr.  Hall  never  quite 
got  over  this  mortification ;  after  it  he  allowed  himself  to  become 
dim  of  sight  and  hard  of  hearing,  and  kept  pretty  closely  to  the  house 
during  the  two  winters  that  remained  of  his  life.  He  sent  for  an 
orphan  grand-niece  to  keep  him  company  in  his  old  age ;  he,  the 
woman-contemning  old  bachelor,  became  thankful  for  the  cheerful 
presence  of  the  pretty,  bonny  Mary  Pearson,  who  was  good  and 
sensible,  and  nothing  more.  She  formed  a  close  friendship  with  the 
daughters  of  the  vicar,  Mr.  Browning,  and  Mr.  Gibson  found  time  to 
become  very  intimate  with  all  three.  HoUingford  speculated  much 
on  which  young  lady  would  become  Mrs.  Gibson,  and  was  rather 
sorry  when  the  talk  about  possibilities,  and  the  gossip  about  proba- 
bilities, with  regard  to  the  handsome  young  surgeon's  marriage, 
ended  in  the  most  natural  manner  in  the  world,  by  his  marrying  his 
predecessor's  niece.  The  two  Miss  Brownings  showed  no  signs  of 
going  into  a  consumption  on  the  occasion,  although  their  looks  and 
manners  were  carefully  watched.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  rather 
boisterously  meriy  at  the  wedding,  and  poor  Mrs.  Gibson  it  was  that 
died  of  consumption,  four  or  five  years  after  her  marriage — three 
years  after  the  death  of  her  great-uncle,  and  when  her  only  child, 
Molly,  was  just  three  years  old. 

Mr.  Gibson  did  not  speak  much  about  the  grief  at  the  loss  of  his 
wife,  which  it  was  supposed  that  he  felt.  Indeed,  he  avoided  all 
demonstrations  of  sympathy,  and  got  up  hastily  and  left  the  room 
when  Miss  Phcebe  Browning  first  saw  him  after  his  loss,  and  burst 
into  an  uncontrollable  flood  of  tears,  which  threatened  to  end  in 
hysterics.  Miss  Browning  afterwards  said  she  never  could  forgive 
liim  for  his  hard-heartedness  on  that  occasion ;  but  a  fortnight  after- 
wards she  came  to  very  high  words  with  old  Mrs.  Goodenough,  for 
gasping  out  her  doubts  whether  Mr.  Gibson  was  a  man  of  deep 
feeling ;  judging  by  the  narrowness  of  his  crape  hat-band,  which 
ought  to  have  covered  his  hat,  whereas  there  was  at  least  three 
inches  of  beaver  to  be  seen.  And,  in  spite  of  it  all.  Miss  Browning 
and  Miss  Phoebe  considered  themselves  as  Mr.  Gibson's  most  inti- 


MOLLY   GIBSON'S  CHILDHOOD.  29 

mate  friends,  in  right  of  their  regnnl  for  his  (h':ul  wife,  ami  would 
fain  have  taken  a  (luasi-inotherly  interest  in  his  little  girl,  had  sho 
not  been  guarded  hy  a  watehful  dragon  in  the  shapo  of  Betty,  her 
nurse,  who  [was  jialous  of  any  interfc-renrc  Itetwtcn  her  and  her 
charge  ;  and  especially  resentful  and  disagreeable  towards  all  those 
ladies  who,  by  suitiihlo  nge,  rank,  or  propinquity,  she  thought  capable 
of  "  casting  sheep's  eyes  at  master." 

Several  years  before  the  opening   of  tliis    story,    Mr.  (iibson's 
position  seemed  settled  for  life,  both  socially  and  professionally.     He 
was   a   widower,  and  likely   to  remain   so ;  his  domestic  affections 
Were  centred  on  little  Molly,  but  even  to  her,  in  their  most  private 
moments,  ho  did  not  give  way  to  much  expression  of  his  feelings  ; 
his  most  caressing  appellation  for  her  was  "  Goosey,"  and  he  took  a 
pleasure  in  bewildering  her  infant  mind  with  his  badinage.     Uo  had 
rather  a  contempt  for  demonstrative  people,  arising  from  his  medical 
insight  into  the  consequences  to  health  of  uncontrolled  feeling.     He 
deceived  himself  into  believing  that  still  his  reason  was  lord  of  all, 
because   he  had  never   fallen  into  the  habit  of  expression  on  any 
other  than  purely  intellectual  subjects.     Molly,  however,  had  her 
own  intuitions  to  guide  her.     Though  her  papa  laughed   at   her, 
quizzed  her.  joked  at  her,  in  a  way  wliich  the  Miss  Brownings  called 
'•really  cruel"  to   each  other  when  they  were   quite   alone,   Molly 
took  her  little  griefs  and  pleasures,  and  poured  them  into  her  papa's 
oars,   sooner  even  than   into  Betty's,  that  kind-hearted  termagant. 
The  child  grew  to  understand  her  latlicr  well,  and  the  two  had  the 
most  delightful  intercourse  together — half  banter,  half  seriousness, 
but  altogether  confidential  friendship.     Mr.  Gibson  kept  three  ser- 
vants ;  Betty,  a  cook,  and  a  girl  who  was  supposed  to  be  housemaid, 
but  who  was  under  both  the  elder  two,  and  had  a  pretty  life  of  it  in 
consequence.     Three  servants  would  not  have  been  requii'cd  if  it  had 
not  been  Mr.  Gibson's  habit,  as  it  had  been  Mr.  Hall's  before  him, 
to  take  two  "  pupils,"  as  they  were  called  in  the  genteel  language  of 
Hollingford,   "  aiipreutices,"  as  they  were  in  fact — being  bound  by 
indentures,  and  paying  a  handsome  premium  to  learn  their  business. 
They  lived  in  the  house,  and  occupied  an  uncomfortable,  ambiguous, 
or,    as  Miss   Browning  called  it   with  some  truth,    "amphibious" 
position.     They  had  their  meals  with  Mr.  Gibson  and  Mollv,   and 
were  felt  to  be  terribly  in  the  way  ;  Jlr.  Gibson  not  being  a  man 
who  could  make  conversation,  and  hating  the  duty  of  talkinf^  uuder 
restraint.     Yet  something  within  him  made  him  wince,  as  if  his 


30  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

duties  were  not  riglitly  performed,  when,  as  the  cloth  was  drawn,  the 
two  awkward  lads  rose  up  with  joyful  alacrity,  gave  him  a  nod,  which 
was  to  he  interpreted  as  a  how,  knocked  against  each  other  in  their 
endeavours  to  get  out  of  the  dining-room  quickly ;  and  then  might 
be  heard  dashing  along  a  passage  which  led  to  the  surgery,  choking 
with  half-suppressed  laughter.     Yet  the  annoyance  he  felt  at  this 
dull  sense  of  imperfectly  fulfilled  duties  only  made  his  sarcasms  on 
their  inefficiency,  or  stupidity,  or  ill  manners,  more  hitter  than  before. 
Beyond  direct  professional  instruction,  he  did  not  know  what  to 
do  with  the  succession  of  pairs  of  young  men,  whose  mission  seemed 
to  be,  to  be  plagued  by  their  master  consciously,  and  to  plague  him 
unconsciously.    Once  or  twice  Mr.  Gibson  had  declined  taking  a  fresh 
pupil,  in  the  hopes   of  shaking  himself  free  fi-om   the  incubus,  but 
his  reputation  as  a  clever  surgeon  had  spread  so  rapidly  that  his  fees 
which  he  had  thought  prohibitory,  were  willingly  paid,  in  order  that 
the  young  man  might  make  a  start  in  life,  with  the  prestige  of  having 
been  a  pupil  of  Gibson  of  HoUingford.     But  as  Molly  grew  to  be  a 
little  girl  instead  of  a  child,  when  she  was  about  eight  years  old,  her 
father  perceived  the  awkwardness  of  her  having  her  breakfasts  and 
dinners  so  often  alone  with  the  pupils,  without  his  uncertain  pre- 
sence.    To  do  away  with  this  evil,  more  than  for  the  actual  instruc- 
tion she  could  give,  he  engaged  a  respectable  woman,  the  daughter 
of  a  shopkeeper  in  the  town,  who  had  left  a   destitute  family,   to 
come  every  morning  before  breakfast,  and  to  stay  with  Molly  till  he 
came  home  at  night ;  or,  if  he  was  detained,  until  the  child's  bed- 
time. 

"  Now,  Miss  Eyre,"  said  he,  summing  up  his  instructions  the 
day  before  she  entered  upon  her  office,  "  remember  this  :  you  are  to 
make  good  tea  for  the  young  men,  and  see  that  they  have  their  meals 
comfortably,  and — you  are  five-and-thiiiy,  I  think  you  said  ? — tiy 
and  make  them  talk, — rationally,  I  am  afraid  is  beyond  your  or 
anybody's  power ;  but  make  them  talk  without  stammering  or 
giggling.  Don't  teach  Molly  too  much  :  she  must  sew,  and  read, 
and  write,  and  do  her  sums ;  but  I  want  to  keep  her  a  child,  and  if 
I  find  more  learning  desirable  for  her,  I'll  see  about  giving  it  to  her 
myself.  After  all,  I'm  not  sure  that  reading  or  writing  is  necessaiy. 
Many  a  good  woman  gets  married  with  only  a  cross  instead  of  her 
name  ;  it's  rather  a  diluting  of  mother-wit,  to  my  fancy ;  but,  how- 
ever, we  must  yield  to  the  prejudices  of  society,  Miss  Eyre,  and  so 
you  may  teach  the  child  to  read." 


MOLLY  OIDSON's  CHILDHOOD.  81 

Miss  Eyro  listened  iu  sileuce,  pcrploxetl  but  detcrniincd  to  bo 
ubcdieut  to  tho  directions  of  the  doctor,  whoso  kindness  she  and  her 
fiimily  had  pood  causo  to  know.  She  made  stronj:;  tea  ;  hhe  helped 
the  young  men  liberally  in  Mr.  Gibson's  absonoo,  as  well  as  in  his 
presence,  and  she  found  tho  way  to  unloosen  their  tongues,  when- 
ever thtir  master  was  away,  by  talkinj^  to  them  on  trivial  subjects  in 
her  pleasant  homely  way.  She  taught  Molly  to  read  and  write,  but 
tried  honestly  to  keep  her  back  in  every  other  branch  of  education. 
It  was  only  by  fighting  and  straggling  hard,  that  bit  by  bit  Molly 
persuaded  her  father  to  let  her  have  French  and  drawing  lessons. 
Ho  was  always  afraid  of  her  becoming  too  much  educated,  though 
ho  need  not  have  been  alarmed  ;  the  masters  who  visited  such  small 
country  towns  as  HoUiugford  forty  years  ago,  were  no  such  great 
proficients  in  their  arts.  Once  a  week  she  joined  a  dancing  class  in 
the  assembly-room  at  the  principal  inn  in  the  town  :  tho  "  Cumnor 
Arms ;  "  and,  being  daunted  by  her  father  iu  eveiy  intellectual 
attempt,  she  read  everv-  book  that  came  iu  her  way,  almost  with  as 
much  delight  as  if  it  had  been  forbidden.  For  his  station  iu  life, 
Sir.  Gibson  had  an  unusually  good  library  ;  tho  medical  portion  of 
it  was  inaccessible  to  Molly,  being  kept  iu  the  surgery,  but  every 
other  book  she  had  either  read,  or  tried  to  read.  Her  summer  place 
of  study  was  that  seat  in  the  cherry-tree,  where  she  got  the  gi-een 
stains  on  her  frock,  that  have  already  been  mentioned  as  likely  to 
wear  Betty's  life  out.  In  spite  of  this  "  hidden  worm  i'  th'  bud," 
Betty  was  to  all  appearance  strong,  alert,  and  flourishing.  She  was 
the  one  crook  in  Miss  Eyre's  lot,  who  was  otherwise  so  happy  in 
having  met  with  a  suitable  well-paid  emplo}'ment  just  when  she 
needed  it  most.  But  Betty,  though  agreeing  in  theory  with  her 
master  when  he  told  her  of  the  necessity  of  having  a  goveniess  for 
his  little  daughter,  was  vehemently  opposed  to  any  division  of  her 
authoi-ity  and  influence  over  the  child  who  had  been  her  charge,  her 
plagne,  and  her  delight  ever  since  Mrs.  Gibson's  death.  She  took 
up  her  position  as  censor  of  all  Miss  Eyre's  sa}'ings  and  doings  from 
the  verj-  first,  and  did  not  for  one  moment  condescend  to  conceal  her 
disapprobation  in  her  heart.  She  could  not  help  respecting  tho 
patience  and  painstaking  of  the  good  lady, — for  a  "  lady  "  Miss 
Eyre  was  in  tho  best  sense  of  the  word,  though  in  Ilollingford  she 
only  took  rank  as  a  shopkeeper's  daughter.  Yet  Betty  buzzed  about 
her  with  tho  teasing  pertinacity  of  a  gnat,  always  ready  to  find  fault, 
if  not  to  bite.     Miss  Eyre's  only  defence  came  from  the  quarter 


32  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

whence  it  might  least  have  been  expected — from  her  pupil ;  on 
whose  fancied  behalf,  as  an  oppressed  little  personage,  Betty  always 
based  her  attacks.  But  very  early  in  the  day  Molly  perceived  their 
injustice,  and  soon  afterwards  she  began  to  respect  Miss  Eyre  for 
her  silent  endurance  of  what  evidently  gave  her  far  more  pain  than 
Betty  imagined.  Mr.  Gibson  had  been  a  friend  in  need  to  her 
family,  so  Miss  Eyre  restrained  her  complaints,  sooner  than  annoy 
him.  And  she  had  her  reward.  Betty  would  offer  Molly  all  sorts 
of  small  temptations  to  neglect  Miss  Ejtc's  wishes  ;  Molly  steadily 
resisted,  and  plodded  away  at  her  task  of  sewing  or  her  difficult  sum. 
]>etty  made  cumbrous  jokes  at  Miss  Eyre's  expense.  Molly  looked 
up  with  the  utmost  gravity,  as  if  requesting  the  explanation  of  an 
unintelligible  speech ;  and  there  is  nothing  so  quenching  to  a  wag 
as  to  be  asked  to  translate  his  jest  into  plain  matter-of-fact  English, 
and  to  show  wherein  the  point  lies.  Occasionally  Betty  lost  her 
temper  entirely,  and  spoke  impertinently  to  Miss  Eyre ;  but  when 
this  had  been  done  in  Molly's  defence,  the  girl  flew  out  in  such  a 
violent  passion  of  words  in  defence  of  her  silent  trembling  governess, 
that  even  Betty  herself  was  daunted,  though  she  chose  to  take  the 
child's  anger  as  a  good  joke,  and  tried  to  persuade  Miss  Eyre  herself 
to  join  in  her  amusement. 

"Bless  the  child!  one  would  think  I  was  a  hungry  pussy-cat, 
and  she  a  hen-sparrow,  with  her  wings  all  fluttering,  and  her  little 
eyes  aflame,  and  her  beak  ready  to  peck  me  just  because  I  happened 
to  look  near  her  nest.  Nay,  child  !  if  thou  lik'st  to  be  stifled  in  a 
nastj'  close  room,  learning  things  as  is  of  no  earthly  good  when  they 
is  learnt,  instead  o'  riding  on  Job  Donkin's  hay-cart,  it's  thy  look- 
out, not  mine.  She's  a  little  vixen,  isn't  she  '?  "  smiling  at  Miss 
Eyre,  as  she  finished  her  speech.  But  the  poor  governess  saw  no 
humour  in  the  aflair  ;  the  comparison  of  Molly  to  a  hen-sparrow  was 
lost  upon  her.  She  was  sensitive  and  conscientious,  and  knew,  from 
home  experience,  the  evils  of  an  ungovernable  temper.  So  she 
began  to  reprove  Molly  for  giving  way  to  her  passion,  and  the  child 
thought  it  hard  to  be  blamed  for  what  she  considered  her  just  anger 
against  Betty.  But,  after  all,  these  were  the  small  grievances  of  a 
very  happy  childhood. 


(      3!J      ) 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MK.  GIBSON'S  NEIGIinOURS. 

Molly  gi*ew  up  among  these  quiet  people  in  calm  monotony  of  life, 
without  any  greater  event  than  that  which  has  been  recorded, — the 
being  left  behind  at  the  Towers — until  she  was  nearly  seventeen. 
She  had  become  a  visitor  at  the  school,  but  she  had  never  gone 
again  to  the  annual  festival  at  tho  great  house  ;  it  was  easy  to  find 
some  excuse  for  keeping  away,  and  tho  recollection  of  that  day  was 
not  a  pleasant  one  on  the  whole,  though  she  often  thought  how  much 
she  should  like  to  see  the  gardens  again. 

Lady  Agnes  was  married  ;  there  was  only  Lady  Hamet  remain- 
ing at  home;  Lord  Ilollingford,  the  eldest  son,  had  lost  his  wife, 
and  wa^  a  good  deal  more  at  the  Towers  since  he  had  become  a 
widower.  He  was  a  tall  ungainly  man,  considered  to  be  as  proud  as 
his  mother,  the  countess ;  but,  in  foct,  he  was  only  shy,  and  slow  at 
making  commonplace  speeches.  He  did  not  know  what  to  say  to 
people  whose  daily  habits  and  interests  were  not  the  same  as  his ; 
he  would  have  been  very  thankful  for  a  handbook  of  small-talk,  and 
would  have  leanit  oft"  his  sentences  with  good-humoured  diligence. 
He  often  envied  the  fluency  of  his  garrulous  father,  who  delighted  in 
tiUking  to  cveiybody,  and  was  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  inco- 
herence of  his  conversation.  But,  owing  to  his  constitutional  re- 
serve and  shyness.  Lord  Hollingford  was  not  a  popular  man 
although  his  kindness  of  heart  was  ver}'  great,  his  simplicity  of 
character  extreme,  and  his  scientific  acquirements  considerable 
enough  to  entitle  him  to  much  reputation  in  the  European  re- 
public of  learned  men.  Li  this  respect  Hollingford  was  proud  of 
him.  The  inhabitants  knew  that  the  great,  grave,  clumsy  heir  to 
its  fealty  was  highly  esteemed  for  his  wisdom  ;  and  that  he  had 
made  one  or  two  discoveries,  though  in  what  direction  they  were  no 
Vol.  I.  » 


34  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

quite  sure.  But  it  was  safe  to  point  him  out  to  strangers  visiting 
tlie  little  town,  as  "  That's  Lord  Hollingford — the  famous  Lord 
HoUingford,  you  know ;  you  must  have  heard  of  him,  he  is  so  scien- 
tific." If  the  strangers  knew  his  name,  they  also  knew  his  claims  to 
fame  ;  if  they  did  not,  ten  to  one  but  they  would  appear  as  if  they 
did,  and  so  conceal  not  only  their  own  ignorance,  hut  that  of  their 
companions,  as  to  the  exact  nature  of  the  sources  of  his  reputation. 

He  was  left  a  widower  with  two  or  thi-ee  boys.  They  were  at  a 
public  school ;  so  that  their  companionship  could  make  the  house  in 
which  he  had  passed  his  married  life  but  little  of  a  home  to  him,  and 
he  consequently  spent  much  of  his  time  at  the  Towers ;  where  his 
mother  was  proud  of  him,  and  his  father  very  fond,  but  ever  so  little 
afraid  of  him.  His  friends  were  always  welcomed  by  Lord  and  Lady 
Cumnor ;  the  former,  indeed,  was  in  the  habit  of  welcoming  every- 
body everywhere  ;  but  it  v>"as  a  proof  of  Lady  Cumnor's  real  afiection 
for  her  distinguished  sou,  that  she  allowed  him  to  ask  what  she 
called  "  all  sorts  of  people  "  to  the  Towers.  "  All  sorts  of  people  " 
meant  really  those  who  were  distinguished  for  science  and  learning, 
without  regard  to  rank :  and  it  must  be  confessed,  without  much 
regard  to  polished  manners  likewise. 

Mr.  Hall,  Mr.  Gibson's  predecessor,  had  always  been  received 
with  friendly  condescension  by  my  lady,  who  had  found  him  estab- 
lished as  the  family  medical  man,  when  first  she  came  to  the  Towers 
on  her  marriage ;  but  she  never  thought  of  interfering  with  his 
custom  of  taking  his  meals,  if  he  needed  refreshment,  in  the  house- 
keeper's room,  not  with  the  housekeeper,  hieu  cnioiila.  The  comfort- 
able, clever,  stout,  and  red-faced  doctor  would  very  much  have  pre- 
ferred this,  even  if  he  had  had  the  choice  given  him  (which  he  never 
had)  of  taking  his  "  snack,"  as  he  called  it,  with  my  lord  and  my  lady, 
in  the  grand  dining-room.  Of  course,  if  some  great  surgical  gun 
(like  Sir  Astley)  was  brought  down  from  London  to  bear  on  the 
family's  health,  it  was  due  to  him,  as  well  as  to  the  local  medical 
attendant,  to  ask  Mr.  Hall  to  dinner,  in  a  formal  ceremonious 
manner,  on  which  occasion  Mr.  Hall  buried  his  chin  in  voluminous 
folds  of  white  muslin,  put  on  his  knee-breeches,  vdth  bunches  of 
ribbon  at  the  sides,  his  silk  stockings  and  buckled  shoes,  and  other- 
wise made  himself  excessively  uncomfortable  in  his  attire,  and  went 
forth  in  state  in  a  post-chaise  from  the  "  Cumnor  Arms,"  consoling 
himself  in  the  private  corner  of  his  heart  for  the  discomfort  he  was 
enduring  with  the  idea  of  how  well  it  would  sound  the  next  day  in 


Mil.  oiuson's  neigudouus.  83 

tho  oars  of  tho  squires  whom  ho  was  iu  tho  habit  of  attcudiuK'. 
«'  Yt'stenlay  at  (liuuor  tho  carl  said,"  or  *'  tho  counlcs.s  remarked," 
or  ''  I  was  surprised  to  hoar  when  I  was  diiiinj^  at  tho  Towers  yes- 
terday." iJiit  somehow  things  had  chaugod  Biiico  Mr.  Gibson  had 
become  "tho  doctor  "  par  cxcolleuco  at  llollingford.  Miss  Browu- 
ings  tlioiight  that  it  was  because  ho  had  such  au  clcgaat  figure,  ond 
"such  a  distinguished  manner;"  Mrs.  Goodcnough,  "  because  of 
his  aristocratic  connections  " — "  tho  sou  of  a  Scotch  duke,  my  dear, 
never  miml  on  which  side  of  tho  blanket  " — but  tho  fcict  was  certain; 
althougli  ho  might  frequently  ask  Mrs.  IJrown  to  give  him  something 
to  oat  iu  the  housekeeper's  room — ho  had  no  time  for  all  tho  fu3.s 
and  ceremony^  of  luncheon  with  my  lady — ho  was  always  welcome  to 
tho  grandest  circle  of  visitors  in  the  house.  lie  might  lunch  with  a 
duke  any  day  that  he  chose  ;  given  that  a  duke  was  forthcoming  at 
the  Towers.  His  accent  was  Scotch,  not  provincial.  Ho  had  not 
an  ounce  of  superfluous  flesh  on  his  bones  ;  and  leanness  goes  a 
great  way  to  gentility.  His  complexion  was  sallow,  and  his  hair 
black  ;  in  those  days,  the  decade  after  the  conclusion  of  tho  great 
continental  war,  to  bo  sallow  and  black-a-vised  was  of  itself  a  dis- 
tinction ;  ho  was  not  jovial  (as  my  lord  remarked  with  a  sigh,  but  it 
was  my  lady  who  endorsed  the  invitations),  sparing  of  his  words, 
intelligent,  and  slightly  sarcastic.  Theroforo  he  was  perfectly 
presentable. 

His  Scotch  blood  (for  that  ho  was  of  Scottish  descent  there  could 
be  no  manner  of  doubt)  gave  him  just  the  kind  of  thistly  dignity 
which  made  every  one  feel  that  they  must  treat  him  with  respect ;  so 
on  that  head  he  was  assured.  Tho  grandeur  of  being  au  invited 
guest  to  dinner  at  tho  Towers  from  time  to  time,  gave  him  but 
littlo  pleasure  for  many  years,  but  it  was  a  form  to  bo  gono 
through  in  the  way  of  his  profession,  without  any  idea  of  social 
gratification. 

15ut  when  Lord  IlulUugford  returned  to  mako  tho  Towers  his 
home,  aflairs  were  altered.  Mr.  Gibson  really  heard  and  learut 
things  that  interested  him  seriously,  and  that  gave  fresh  flavour  to 
his  reading.  From  time  to  tim.>  ho  met  tho  leaders  of  the  scientific, 
world ;  odd-looking,  simple-hearted  men,  very  much  in  earnest  about 
their  own  particular  subjects,  and  not  having  much  to  say  on  any 
other,  Mr.  Gibson  found  himself  capable  of  appieciating  such 
persons,  and  also  perceived  that  they  valued  his  appreciation,  as  it 
was  honestly  and  intelligently  given.     Indeed,  by-and-by,  ho  began 

8—2 


36  WIVES  AKD  DAUGHTERS. 

to  send  contributions  of  his  own  to  the  more  scientific  of  the  medical 
journals,  and  thus  partly  in  receiving,  partly  in  giving  out  information 
and  accurate  thought,  a  new  zest  was  added  to  his  life.  There  was 
not  much  intercourse  between  Lord  Hollingford  and  himself;  the  one 
was  too  silent  and  shy,  the  other  two  busy,  to  seek  each  other's 
society  with  the  perseverance  required  to  do  away  with  the  social  dis- 
tinction of  rank  that  prevented  their  frequent  meetings.  But  each  was 
thoroughly  pleased  to  come  into  contact  with  the  other.  Each  could 
rely  on  the  other's  respect  and  sympathy  with  a  security  unknown  to 
many  who  call  themselves  friends  ;  and  this  was  a  source  of  happiness 
to  both ;  to  Mr.  Gibson  the  most  so,  of  course ;  for  his  range  of 
intelligent  and  cultivated  society  was  the  smaller.  Indeed,  there 
was  no  one  equal  to  himself  among  the  men  with  whom  he  asso- 
ciated, and  this  he  had  felt  as  a  depressing  influence,  although  he  had 
never  recognized  the  cause  of  his  depression.  There  was  Mr.  Ashton, 
the  vicar,  who  had  succeeded  Mr.  Browning,  a  thoroughly  good  and 
kind-hearted  man,  but  one  without  an  original  thought  in  him  ; 
whose  habitual  courtesy  and  indolent  mind  led  him  to  agree  to  every 
opinion,  not  palpably  heterodox,  and  to  utter  platitudes  in  the  most 
gentlemanly  manner.  Mr.  Gibson  had  once  or  twice  amused  himself, 
by  leading  the  vicar  on  in  his  agreeable  admissions  of  arguments 
"as  perfectly  convincing,"  and  of  statements  as  "curious  but  un- 
doubted," till  he  had  planted  the  poor  clergyman  in  a  bog  of  heretical 
bewilderment.  But  then  Mr.  Ashton's  pain  and  sufi'ering  at  suddenly 
finding  out  into  what  a  theological  predicament  he  had  been  brought, 
his  real  self-reproach  at  his  previous  admissions,  were  so  great  that 
Mr.  Gibson  lost  all  sense  of  fun,  and  hastened  back  to  the  Thirty- 
nine  Articles  with  all  the  good-will  in  life,  as  the  only  means  of 
soothing  the  vicar's  conscience.  On  any  other  subject,  except  that 
of  orthodoxy,  Mr.  Gibson  could  lead  him  any  lengths  ;  but  then  his 
ignorance  on  most  of  them  prevented  bland  acquiescence  from 
arriving  at  any  results  which  could  startle  him.  He  had  some 
private  fortune,  and  was  not  married,  and  lived  the  life  of  an  indolent 
and  refined  bachelor ;  but  though  he  himself  was  no  very  active 
visitor  among  his  poorer  parishioners,  he  was  always  willing  to  relieve 
their  wants  in  the  most  liberal,  and,  considering  his  habits,  occasion- 
ally in  the  most  self-denying  manner,  whenever  Mr.  Gibson,  or  any 
one  else,  made  them  clearly  known  to  him.  "  Use  my  purse  as  freely 
as  if  it  was  your  own,  Gibson,"  he  was  wont  to  say.  "  I'm  such  a 
bad  one  at  going  about  and  making  talk  to  poor  folk — I  daresay  I 


MR.   GinSON'S  NEIGIinOURS.  87 

don't  do  onougli  in  tlmt  way— but  I  nxn  most  willing  to  give  yoa 
anjihing  for  any  one  you  inny  conHider  in  want," 

•'  Thank  you ;  I  conic  upon  you  pretty  often,  I  believe,  and  make 
very  little  soruplo  about  it ;  but  if  you'll  allow  mo  to  suggcHt,  it  is, 
that  you  should  not  try  to  make  talk  when  you  go  into  the  cottages  ; 
but  just  talk." 

"  I  dont  SCO  the  dilTcrcuco,"  said  the  vicar,  a  little  querulously  ; 
"  but  I  daresay  there  is  a  dilVorenco,  and  I  have  no  doubt  what  you 
Bay  is  quite  true.  I  should  not  make  talk,  but  talk  ;  and  as  both  arc 
equally  ditlicult  to  me,  you  must  let  mo  purchase  the  privilege  of 
silence  by  this  ton-pound  note." 

"  Thank  you.  It  is  not  so  satisfactoiy  to  me ;  and,  I  should 
think,  not  to  yourself.  But  probably  the  Joneses  and  Greens  will 
prefer  it." 

]\Ir.  Ashton  would  look  with  plaintive  inquiry  into  Mr.  CJibson's 
face  after  some  such  speech,  as  if  asking  if  a  saixasm  was  intended. 
On  the  whole  they  went  on  in  tho  most  amiable  way  ;  only  beyond 
the  gregarious  feeling  common  to  most  men,  they  had  very  little 
actual  pleasure  in  each  other's  society.  Perhaps  the  man  of  all 
others  to  whom  Mr.  Gibson  took  tho  most  kindly — at  least,  until 
Lord  Holliugford  came  into  the  neighbourhood — was  a  certain  Squire 
Hamley.  lie  and  his  ancestors  had  been  called  s(iuire  as  long  back 
as  local  tradition  extended.  But  there  was  many  a  greater  laud- 
owner  in  the  county,  for  Squire  Hamley's  estate  was  not  more  than 
eight  hundred  acres  or  so.  I'>ut  his  family  had  been  in  possession  of 
it  long  before  the  Earls  of  Cumnor  had  been  heard  of;  before  the 
Hely-Harrisons  bad  bought  Coldstone  Park ;  no  ono  in  Hollingford 
knew  the  time  when  the  Hamloys  had  not  lived  at  Hamley.  '•  Ever 
since  the  Heptarchy,"  said  the  vicar.  "  Nay,"  said  Miss  Browning, 
"  I  have  heard  that  there  were  Hamley s  of  Hamley  before  the 
Romans."  The  vicar  was  preparing  a  polite  assent,  when  Mrs. 
Goodeuough  came  in  with  a  still  more  startling  assertion.  "  I  have 
always  heerd,"  said  she,  with  all  the  slow  authority  of  an  oldest 
inhabitant,  "  that  there  was  Hamleys  of  Hamley  aforo  the  time  of  the 
pagans."  Mr.  Ashton  could  only  bow,  and  say,  "  Possibly,  very 
possibly,  madam."  But  he  said  it  in  so  courteous  a  manner  that 
Mrs.  Goodeuough  looked  round  in  a  gratilied  Avay,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  The  Church  confinns  my  words  ;  who  now  will  dare  dispute  them  ?  " 
At  any  rate,  the  Hamleys  were  a  very  old  family,  if  not  aborigines. 
They  had  not  increased  their  estate  for  centuries;  they  had  held 


38  WIVES  AND   DAUGIlTEliS. 

their  own,  if  even  witli  an  cflbi-t,  and  liacl  not  sold  a  rood  of  it  for  tlio 
last  hundred  years  or  so.  But  they  were  not  an  adventurous  race, 
They  never  traded,  or  speculated,  or  tried  agricultural  improvements 
of  any  kind.  They  had  no  capital  in  any  bank ;  nor  what  perhaps* 
would  have  been  more  in  character,  hoards  of  gold  in  any  stocking. 
Their  mode  of  life  was  simple,  and  more  like  that  of  yeomen  than 
squires.  Indeed  Squire  Hamley,  by  continuing  the  primitive  manners 
and  customs  of  his  forefathers  the  squires  of  the  eighteenth  centuiy, 
did  live  more  as  a  yeoman,  when  such  a  class  existed,  than  as  a  squire 
of  this  generation.  There  was  a  dignity  in  this  quiet  conservatism 
tliat  gained  him  an  immense  amount  of  respect  both  from  high  and 
low ;  and  ho  might  have  visited  at  every  house  in  the  county  had  he 
so  chosen.  But  ho  was  very  indifferent  to  the  charms  of  society  ;  and 
perhaps  this  was  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  squire,  Roger  Hamley, 
who  at  present  lived  and  reigned  at  Hamley,  had  not  received  so 
good  an  education  as  ho  ought  to  have  done.  His  father,  Squire 
Stephen,  had  been  plucked  at  Oxford,  and,  with  stubborn  pride,  ho 
had  refused  to  go  up  again.  Nay  more  !  he  had  sworn  a  great  oath, 
as  men  did  in  those  days,  that  none  of  his  children  to  come  should 
ever  know  either  university  by  becoming  a  member  of  it.  He  had 
only  one  child,  the  present  squire,  and  he  was  brought  up  according 
to  his  father's  word ;  he  was  sent  to  a  petty  provincial  school,  where 
he  saw  much  that  he  liated,  and  then  turned  loose  upon  the  estate  as 
its  heir.  Such  a  bringing  up  did  not  do  him  all  the  harm  that  might 
have  been  anticipated.  He  was  imperfectly  educated,  and  ignorant 
on  many  points ;  but  he  was  aware  of  his  deficiency,  and  regretted  it 
in  theory.  He  was  awkward  and  ungainly  in  society,  and  so  kept  out 
of  it  as  much  as  possible  ;  and  he  was  obstinate,  violent-tempered, 
and  dictatorial  in  his  own  immediate  circle.  On  the  other  side,  ho 
was  generous,  and  true  as-  steel ;  the  very  soul  of  honour,  in  fact. 
He  had  so  much  natural  shrewdness,  that  his  conversation  was 
always  worth  listening  to,  although  he  was  apt  to  start  by  assuming 
entirely  false  premises,  which  he  considered  as  incontrovertible  as 
if  they  had  been  mathematically  proved ;  but,  given  the  correctness 
of  his  premises,  nobody  could  bring  more  natural  wit  and  sense  to 
bear  upon  the  arguments  based  upon  them.  He  had  married  a 
delicate  fine  London  lady ;  it  was  one  of  those  perplexing  maniages 
of  which  one  cannot  understand  the  reasons.  Yet  they  were  vei-y 
happy,  though  possibly  Mrs.  Hamley  would  not  have  sunk  into  the 
condition  of  a  clu'onic  invalid,  if  her  husband  had  cared  a  little  more 


Mu.  qioson'8  nek:  11  nouns.  89 

for  her  Yftiious  tastes,  or  allowed  her  the  companionshii)  of  llutsc  who 
(lid.     Aftc-r  hid  nmrriii'^o  ho  wiis  wont  to  say  ho  had  K'^t  I'Jl  ^.hat  was 
worth  haviu({  out  of  tlio  crowd  of  liouses  they  called  Loudon.    It  wan 
a  coiiii>liiiu'ut  to  his  wifo  which  ho  repeated  imtil  the  year  of  her 
death ;  it  charmed  her  at  first,  it  pleased  her  up  to  the  last  time  of 
her  heariii};j  it ;  but,  for  all  that,  hIio  used  sometimes  to  wish  that  ho 
would  recoj^nizo  the  fact  that  there  nii^'ht  still  ho  something  worth 
heariug  aud  seeing  in  the  great  city.    I3ut  he  never  went  there  again, 
aud  though  he  did  not  prohibit  her  going,  yet  ho  showed  so  little 
s^nnpathy  with  her  when  sho  came  back  full  of  what  she  had  done  on 
her  visit  that  sho  ceased  caring  to  go.     Not  but  what  he  was  kind 
and  willing  in  giving  his  consent,  and  in  furnishing  her  amply  with 
money.     *'  There,  there,  my  little  woman,  take  that !     Dress  your- 
self up  as  line  as  any  on  'em,  and  buy  what  you  like,  for  tho  credit 
of  Haniley  of  llamlcy ;  and  go  to  the  park  aud  the  play,  and  show 
off  with  the  best  on  'em.     I  shall  be  glad  to  seo  thcc  back  again,  I 
know  ;  but  have  thy  fling  while  thou  art  about  it."     Then  when  sho 
came  back  it  was,  "  Well,  well,  it  has  pleased  thee,  I  suppose,  so 
that's  all  right.     But  tho  very  talking  about  it  tires  me,  I  know,  and 
I  can't  think  how  you  have  stood  it  all.    Come  out  and  see  how  pretty 
tho  flowers  are  looking  in  tho  south  garden.    I've  made  them  sow  all 
tho  seeds  you  like  ;  aud  I  went  over  to  Hollingford  nursery  to  buy  the 
cuttings  of  the  plants  you  admii'cd  last  year.     A  breath  of  fresh  air 
will  clear  my  brain  after  listcuing  to  all  this  talk  about  tho  whirl  of 
London,  which  is  like  to  have  turned  mo  giddy." 

Mrs.  Hamley  was  a  great  reader,  and  had  considerable  literary 
taste.  Sho  was  gentle  aud  sentimental ;  tender  and  good.  Sho  gave 
up  her  visits  to  London  ;  she  gave  up  her  sociable  pleasure  in  tho 
company  of  her  fellows  in  education  aud  position.  Her  husband, 
owing  to  tho  deficiencies  of  his  early  years,  disliked  associating  with 
those  to  whom  he  ought  to  have  been  an  equal  ;  ho  was  too  proud  to 
mingle  with  his  inferiors.  Ho  loved  his  wifo  all  the  more  dearly  for 
her  sacrifices  for  him  ;  but,  deprived  of  all  her  strong  interests,  she 
sank  into  ill-health ;  nothiug  definite ;  only  sho  never  was  well. 
Perhaps  if  she  had  had  a  daughter  it  would  have  been  better  for  her  : 
but  her  two  children  wore  boys,  and  their  father,  anxious  to  give 
them  the  advantages  of  which  ho  himself  had  suflcred  tho  depriva- 
tion, scut  the  lads  very  early  to  a  preparatory  school.  They  were  to 
go  on  to  Paigby  and  Cambridge ;  tho  idea  of  Oxford  was  hereditarily 
distasteful  in  the  Ilamley  family.     Osborne,  the  eldest — so  called 


40  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

after  his  motlier's  luaideu  name — was  full  of  taste,  and  liad  some 
taleut.  His  appearance  had  all  the  grace  and  refinement  of  his 
mother's.  He  was  sweet-tempei-ed  and  aifectionate,  almost  as  demon- 
strative as  a  girl.  He  did  well  at  school,  carrying  awaj'  many  prizes  ; 
and  was,  in  a  word,  the  pride  and  delight  of  both  father  and  mother ; 
the  confidential  friend  of  the  latter,  in  default  of  any  other.  Roger 
was  two  years  younger  than  Osborne  ;  clumsy  and  heavily  built,  like 
his  father;  his  face  was  square,  and  the  expression  grave,  and  rather 
immobile.  He  was  good,  but  dull,  his  schoolmasters  said.  He  won 
no  prizes,  but  brought  home  a  favourable  report  of  his  conduct. 
When  he  caressed  his  mother,  she  used  laughingly  to  allude  to  the 
fable  of  the  lap-dog  and  the  donkey ;  so  thereafter  he  left  ofi"  all 
personal  demonstration  of  atfection.  It  was  a  great  question  as  to 
whether  he  was  to  follow  his  brother  to  college  after  he  left  Rugby. 
Mrs.  Hamley  thought  it  would  be  rather  a  throwing  away  of  money, 
as  he  was  so  little  likely  to  distinguish  himself  in  intellectual 
pursuits  ;  anything  practical — such  as  a  civil  engineer — would  be 
more  the  kind  of  life  for  him.  She  thought  that  it  would  be  too 
mortifying  for  him  to  go  to  the  same  college  and  university  as  his 
brother,  who  was  sure  to  distinguish  himself — and,  to  be  repeatedly 
plucked,  to  come  away  wooden-spoon  at  last.  But  his  father  per- 
severed doggedly,  as  was  his  wont,  in  his  intention  of  giving  both  his 
sons  the  same  education ;  they  should  both  have  the  advantages  of 
which  he  had  been  deprived.  If  Roger  did  not  do  well  at  Cambridge 
it  would  be  his  own  f\iult.  If  his  father  did  not  send  him  thither, 
some  day  or  other  he  might  be  regretting  the  omission,  as  Squire 
Stephen  had  done  himself  for  many  a  year.  So  Roger  followed  his 
brother  Osborne  to  Trinity,  and  Mrs.  Hamley  was  again  left  alone, 
after  the  year  of  indecision  as  to  Roger's  destination,  which  had  been 
brought  on  by  her  urgency.  She  had  not  been  able  for  many  years 
to  walk  beyond  her  garden ;  the  greater  part  of  her  life  was  spent  on 
a  sofa,  wheeled  to  the  window  in  summer,  to  the  fireside  in  winter. 
The  room  which  she  inhabited  was  large  and  pleasant ;  four  tall 
windows  looked  out  upon  a  lawn  dotted  over  with  flower-beds,  and 
melting  away  into  a  small  wood,  in  the  centre  of  which  there  was  a 
pond,  filled  with  water-lilies.  About  this  unseen  pond  in  the  deep 
shade  Mrs.  Hamley  had  written  many  a  pretty  four- versed  poem 
since  she  lay  on  her  sofa,  alternately  reading  and  composing  verse. 
She  had  a  small  table  by  her  side  on  which  there  were  the  newest 
works  of  poetry  and  fiction ;  a  pencil  and  blotting-book,  with  loose 


Mli.    (ilBSON'S   NEIGHBOURS.  41 

Bhocts  of  blank  paper ;  ii  vaso  of  flowers  always  of  her  husband's 
guthorin}:; ;  winter  nml  smninor,  she  had  a  sweet  fresh  nosegay  every 
day.  Her  iu:iid  brouf^'ht  her  a  draught  of  nudiciuc  every  three 
hours,  with  a  glass  of  clear  water  and  a  biscuit ;  her  husband  camo 
to  her  as  often  as  his  lovo  for  tho  open  air  and  his  labours  out-of- 
floors  permitted  ;  but  tho  event  of  her  day,  wlicu  her  boys  were 
absent,  was  Mr.  Gibson's  fre(iuent  professional  visits. 

Ho  knew  there  was  real  secret  harm  going  on  all  this  time  that 
people  spoke  of  her  as  a  merely  fanciful  invalid  ;  and  that  one  or  two 
accused  him  of  humouring  her  fancies.  But  ho  only  smiled  at  such 
accusations.  He  felt  that  his  visits  were  a  real  pleasure  and  light- 
cuing  of  her  gi'owing  and  indescribable  discomfort ;  ho  knew  that 
Squire  Hamley  would  have  been  only  too  glad  if  ho  had  come  every 
day ;  and  ho  was  conscious  that  by  careful  watching  of  her  symptoms 
he  might  mitigate  her  bodily  pain.  Besides  all  these  reasons,  ha 
took  great  pleasure  in  the  squire's  society.  Mr.  Gibson  enjoyed  the 
other's  unreasonableness  ;  his  quaintuess ;  his  strong  conservatism 
in  religion,  politics,  and  morals.  Mrs.  Hamley  tried  sometimes  to 
apologize  for,  or  to  soften  away,  opinions  which  she  fancied  wero 
otVensive  to  the  doctor,  or  contradictions  which  she  thought  too 
abrupt ;  but  at  such  times  her  husband  would  lay  his  great  hand 
almost  caressingly  on  Mr.  Gibson's  shoulder,  and  soothe  his  wife's 
anxiety,  by  saying,  "  Let  us  alone,  little  woman.  AVe  understand 
each  other,  don't  we,  doctor  ?  Why,  bless  your  life,  he  gives  mo 
better  than  he  gets  many  a  time  ;  only,  you  see,  ho  sugars  it  over, 
and  says  a  sharp  thing,  and  pretends  it's  all  civility  and  humility  ; 
but  I  can  tell  when  he's  giving  me  a  pill." 

One  of  Mrs.  Hamley's  often-expressed  wishes  had  been,  that 
jMolly  might  come  and  pay  her  a  visit.  Mr.  Gibson  always  refused 
this  re([uest  of  hers,  though  he  could  hardly  have  given  his  reasons 
for  these  refusals.  He  did  not  want  to  lose  the  companionship  of  his 
child,  in  fact ;  but  he  put  it  to  himself  in  quite  a  dill'erent  way. 
He  thought  her  lessons  and  her  regular  course  of  employment  would 
be  interrupted.  The  life  in  Mrs.  Hamley's  heated  and  scented  room 
would  not  bo  good  for  the  girl ;  Osborne  and  Roger  Hamley  would 
bo  at  home,  and  he  did  not  wish  Molly  to  bo  thrown  too  exclusively 
upon  them  for  young  society  ;  or  they  would  not  be  at  home,  and  it 
would  be  rather  dull  and  depressing  for  his  girl  to  be  all  the  day  long 
with  a  nervous  invalid. 

But  at  length  tho  day  came  when  Mr.  Gibson  rode  over,   and 


42  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

volunteeretl  a  viaifc  from  Molly  ;  an  offer  which  Mrs.  Hamley  received 
wjth  the  "  open  arms  of  her  heart,"  as  she  expressed  it ;  and  of 
which  the  duration  was  unspecified.  And  the  cause  for  this  change 
in  Mr.  Gihson's  wishes  v/as  as  follows  : — It  has  heen  mentioned  that 
he  took  pupils,  rather  against  his  inclination,  it  is  true ;  but  there 
they  were,  a  Mr.  Wynne  and  Mr.  Coxe,  "  the  young  gentlemen,"  as 
they  were  called  in  the  household ;  "  Mr.  Gibson's  young  gentlemen," 
as  they  were  termed  in  the  town.  Mr.  Wj-nne  was  the  elder,  the 
more  experienced  one,  who  could  occasionally  take  his  master's  place, 
and  who  gained  experience  by  visiting  the  poor,  and  the  "  chronic 
cases."  3Ir.  Gibson  used  to  talk  over  his  practice  with  Mr.  Wynne, 
and  try  and  elicit  his  opinions  in  the  vain  hope  that,  some  day  or 
another,  Mr.  Wynne  might  start  an  original  thought.  The  young 
man  was  cautious  and  slow  ;  he  would  never  do  any  harm  by  his 
rashness,  but  at  the  same  time  he  would  always  be  a  little  behind 
his  day.  Still  Mr.  Gibson  remembered  that  he  had  had  far  worse 
"young  gentlemen"  to  deal  with;  and  was  content  with,  if  not 
thankful  for,  such  an  elder  pupil  as  Mr.  Wynne.  Mr.  Coxe  was  a 
boy  of  nineteen  or  so,  with  brilliant  red  hair,  and  a  tolerably  red 
face,  of  both  of  which  he  was  very  conscious  and  much  ashamed. 
He  was  the  son  of  an  Indian  officer,  an  old  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Gib- 
son's. Major  Coxe  was  at  some  unpronounceable  station  in  the 
Punjaub,  at  the  present  time ;  but  the  year  before  he  had  been  in 
England,  and  had  repeatedly  expressed  his  great  satisfaction  at 
having  placed  his  only  child  as  a  pupil  to  his  old  friend,  and  had  in 
fact  almost  charged  Mr.  Gibson  with  the  guardianship  as  well  as  the 
instruction  of  his  boy,  giving  him  many  injunctions  which  he  thought 
were  special  in  this  case ;  but  which  Mr.  Gibson  with  a  touch  of 
annoyance  assured  the  major  were  always  attended  to  in  every  case, 
with  every  pupil.  But  when  the  poor  major  ventured  to  beg  that  his 
boy  might  be  considered  as  one  of  the  family,  and  that  he  might 
spend  his  evenings  in  the  drawing-room  instead  of  the  surgery, 
Mr.  Gibson  turned  upon  him  with  a  direct  refusal. 

"  He  must  live  like  the  others.  I  can't  have  the  pestle  and  mortar 
carried  into  the  drawing-room,  and  the  place  smelling  of  aloes." 

"  Must  my  boy  make  pills  himself,  then  ?  "  asked  the  major, 
ruefully. 

"To  be  sure.  The  youngest  apprentice  always  does.  It's  not 
hard  work.  He'll  have  the  comfort  of  thinking  he  won't  have  to 
swallow  them  himself.     And  he'll  have  the  run  of  the  pomfi-et  cakes, 


MU.   GIBSON'S  NKIGIinOUIia.  18 

nnd  tlio  conserve  of  hips,  and  on  Sundays  lio  Klmll  havo  a  taste  of 
tamarinds  to  reward  liini  for  liis  weekly  labour  at  pill-making." 

!\rajor  Coxo  was  not  quite  suro  whether  ^Ir.  Gibson  was  not 
laughing  nt  him  in  his  skovo  ;  but  things  woro  so  far  arranged,  and 
tho  real  advantages  wcro  so  great,  that  ho  thought  it  was  best  to  take 
no  notice,  but  even  to  submit  to  tho  indignity  of  pill-making.  He 
was  consoled  for  all  these  rubs  by  Mr.  Gibson's  manner  at  last  uhen 
the  supremo  moment  of  final  parting  an*ivcd.  The  doctor  did  not 
say  much  ;  but  there  was  something  of  real  sympathy  in  his  manner 
that  spoke  straight  to  the  father's  heart,  and  an  implied  "you  have 
trusted  me  with  your  boy,  and  I  have  accepted  the  trust  in  full,"  in 
each  of  the  few  last  words. 

Mr.  Gibson  knew  his  business  and  human  nature  too  well  to  dis- 
tinguish young  Coxe  by  any  overt  marks  of  favouritism  ;  but  he  could 
not  help  showing  tho  lad  occasionally  that  he  regarded  him  with 
especial  interest  as  tho  son  of  a  friend.  Besides  this  claim  upon 
his  regard,  there  was  something  about  tho  young  man  himself  that 
pleased  Mr.  Gibson.  He  was  rash  and  impulsive,  apt  to  speak, 
hitting  the  nail  on  the  head  sometimes  with  unconscious  cleverness, 
at  other  times  making  gross  and  startling  blunders.  Mr.  Gibson 
used  to  toll  him  that  his  motto  would  always  be  "  kill  or  cure,"  and 
to  this  Mr.  Coxo  onco  made  answer  that  he  thought  it  was  the  best 
motto  a  doctor  could  havo  ;  for  if  he  could  not  euro  the  patient,  it 
was  surely  best  to  get  him  out  of  his  misery  quietly,  and  at  once. 
3Ir.  Wynne  looked  up  in  suiqiriso,  and  observed  that  he  should  he 
afraid  that  such  putting  out  of  misery  might  be  looked  upon  as  homi- 
cide by  some  people.  Mr.  Gibson  said  in  a  dry  tone,  that  for  his 
part  he  should  not  mind  the  imputation  of  homicide,  but  that  it  would 
not  do  to  make  away  with  profitable  patients  in  so  speedy  a  manner  ; 
and  that  he  thought  that  as  long  as  they  were  willing  and  able  to  pay 
two-and-sixponcc  for  tho  doctor's  visit,  it  was  his  duty  to  keep  them 
alive  ;  of  course,  when  they  became  paupers  the  case  was  ditrerent. 
Mr.  "Wynne  pondered  over  tliis  speech ;  Mr.  Coxo  only  laughed. 
At  last  Mr.  "Wynne  said, — 

"  But  you  go  every  moniing,  sir,  before  breakH^st  to  sec  old 
Nancy  Grant,  and  you've  ordered  her  this  medicine,  sir,  which  is 
about  the  most  costly  in  Corbyn's  bill  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  found  out  how  dillicult  it  is  for  men  to  live  up  to 
their  precepts  ?  You've  a  great  deal  to  learn  yet,  Mr.  "Wynne  1  " 
said  ^Ir.  Gibson,  leaving  the  surgery-  as  he  spoke. 


44  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  I  never  can  make  the  governor  out,"  said  Mr.  "Wynne,  in  a  tone 
of  utter  despair.     '*  What  are  you  Laughing  at  Coxey  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I'm  thinking  how  blest  you  are  in  having  parents  •who  have 
instilled  moral  principles  into  your  youthful  bosom.  You'd  go  and 
be  poisoning  all  the  paupers  off,  if  you  hadn't  been  told  that  murder 
was  a  crime  by  your  mother ;  you'd  be  thinking  you  were  doing  as 
you  were  bid,  and  quote  old  Gibson's  words  when  you  came  to  be 
tried.  '  Please,  my  lord  judge,  they  were  not  able  to  pay  for  my 
visits,  and  so  I  followed  the  rules  of  the  profession  as  taught  me 
by  Mr.  Gibson,  the  great  surgeon  at  HoUingford,  and  poisoned  the 
paupers.'  " 

"  I  can't  bear  that  scoffing  way  of  his." 

"  And  I  like  it.  If  it  wasn't  for  the  governor's  fun,  and  the 
tamarinds,  and  something  else  that  I  know  of,  I  would  run  oft'  to 
India.  I  hate  stifling  towns,  and  sick  people,  and  the  smell  of 
drugs,  and  the  stink  of  pills  on  my  hands  ; — faugh  !  " 


(      45      ) 


CHAPTER    V. 

CALF-LOVE. 

Onf.  (l:xy,  for  some  reason  or  other,  Mr.  Gibson  canio  home  unex- 
pectedly. Ho  was  crossing  the  hall,  having  come  in  by  the  garden- 
door — the  garden  communicated  with  the  stable -yard,  where  ho  had 
left  his  horse — when  the  kitchen  door  oiicucd,  and  the  girl  who  was 
underling  in  the  establishmont,  camo  quickly  into  tha  hall  with  a 
note  in  her  hand,  and  made  as  if  she  was  taking  it  upstairs  ;  but  on 
seeing  her  master  she  gave  a  little  start,  and  turned  back  as  if  to 
hide  herself  in  the  kitchen.  If  she  had  not  made  this  movement, 
so  conscious  of  guilt,  Mr.  Gibson,  who  was  anything  but  suspicious, 
would  never  have  taken  any  notice  of  her.  As  it  was,  ho  stepped 
quickly  forwards,  opened  the  kitchen  door,  and  called  out  "  Bethia  " 
so  sharply  that  she  could  not  delay  coming  forwards. 

"  Give  me  that  note,"  he  said.     She  hesitated  a  little. 

"  It's  for  Miss  Molly,"  she  stammered  out. 

'*  Give  it  to  me  !  "  he  repeated  more  quickly  than  before.  She 
looked  as  if  she  would  cry  ;  but  still  she  kept  the  note  tight  held 
behind  her  back. 

*'  He  said  as  I  was  to  give  it  into  her  own  hands  ;  and  I  promised 
as  I  would,  faithful." 

"  Cook,  go  and  find  Miss  Molly.  Tell  her  to  come  here  at 
once." 

He  fixed  Bethia  with  his  eyes.  It  was  of  no  use  tr^in*^  to 
escape :  she  might  have  thrown  it  into  the  fire,  but  she  had  not 
presence  of  mind  enough.  She  stood  immovable,  only  her  eyes 
looked  any  way  rather  than  encounter  her  master's  steady  gaze. 
"  Molly,  my  dear!  " 

•'  Papa !  I  did  not  know  you  were  at  home,"  said  innocent, 
wondering  Molly. 


46  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

"  Bethia,  keep  your  word.  Here  is  Miss  Molly ;  give  her  the 
note." 

"  Indeed,  miss,  I  couldn't  help  it !  " 

Molly  took  the  note,  but  before  she  could  open  it,  her  father 
said, — "  That's  all,  my  dear;  j'ou  need  not  read  it.  Give  it  to  me- 
Tell  those  who  sent  you,  Bethia,  that  all  letters  for  Miss  Molly  must 
pass  through  my  hands.  Now  be  off  with  you,  goosey,  and  go  back 
to  where  you  came  from." 

"  Papa,  I  shall  make  you  tell  me  who  my  con-espondent  is." 

"  We'll  see  about  that,  by-and-by." 

She  went  a  little  reluctantly,  with  ungratified  curiosity,  upstairs 
to  Miss  Eyre,  who  was  still  her  daily  companion,  if  not  her 
governess.  He  turned  into  the  empty  dining-room,  shut  the  door, 
broke  the  seal  of  the  note,  and  began  to  read  it.  It  was  a  flaming 
love-letter  from  Mr.  Coxo  ;  who  professed  himself  unable  to  go  on 
seeing  her  day  after  day  without  speaking  to  her  of  the  passion  she 
had  inspired — an  "  eternal  passion,"  he  called  it ;  on  reading  which 
Mr.  Gibson  laughed  a  little.  Would  she  not  look  kindly  at  him  ? 
would  she  'not  think  of  him  whose  only  thought  was  of  her  ?  and  so 
on,  with  a  very  proper  admixture  of  violent  compHments  to  her 
beauty.  She  was  fair,  not  pale ;  her  eyes  were  loadstars,  her 
dimples  marks  of  Cupid's  finger,  &c. 

Mr.  Gibson  finished  reading  it ;  and  began  to  think  about  it  in 
his  own  mind.  "  Who  would  have  thought  the  lad  had  been  so 
poetical  ?  but,  to  be  sure,  there's  a  *  Shakspeare '  in  the  surgery 
library ;  I'll  take  it  away  and  put  '  Johnson's  Dictionary '  instead. 
One  comfort  is  the  conviction  of  her  perfect  innocence — ignorance,  I 
should  rather  say — for  it  is  easy  to  see  it's  the  first  '  confession  of 
his  love,'  as  he  calls  it.  But  it's  an  awful  worry — to  begin  with 
lovers  so  early.  Why,  she's  only  just  seventeen, — not  seventeen, 
indeed,  till  July ;  not  for  six  weeks  yet.  Sixteen  and  three-quarters  ! 
Why,  she's  quite  a  baby.  To  be  sure — poor  Jeanie  was  not  so  old, 
and  how  I  did  love  her ! ''  (Mrs.  Gibson's  name  was  Mary,  so  he 
must  have  been  referring  to  some  one  else.)  Then  his  thoughts 
wandered  back  to  other  days,  though  he  still  held  the  open  note  in 
his  hand.  By-and-by  his  eyes  fell  upon  it  again,  and  his  mind  came 
back  to  bear  upon  the  present  time.  "I'll  not  be  hard  upon  him. 
I'll  give  him  a  hint ;  he  is  quite  sharp  enough  to  take  it.  Poor 
laddie !  if  I  send  him  away,  which  would  be  the  wisest  coui'se,  I  do 
believe  he's  got  no  home  to  go  to." 


A  Lots    LsriKK. 


CALP-LOVE.  47 

After  a  littlo  moro  consulcnitiou  in  tho  samo  straiu,  Mr.  Gibson 
wont  ami  Put  down  at  tho  writiug-tablc  auJ  wroto  tho  following 
formula  : — 

^faster  Coxe. 

("That  'master'  will  touch  him  to  tho  quick,"  naid  Mr.  Gibson 
to  himself  as  ho  wrote  tho  word.) 

9).     Vcrccandi.T  ,^i. 

i'itli'litatis  Domcsticio  31. 
Kcticciitiif  i^T.  iij. 

M.     Cai)iat  hiinc  dosiiu  tor  dio  iu  aquu  pura. 

E.  Gibson,  Ch. 

Mr.  Gibson  smiled  a  littlo  sadly  as  ho  rc-rcad  bis  words.  "  Poor 
Jeauie,"  he  said  aloud.  And  then  ho  choso  out  an  envelope,  enclosed 
the  fervid  love-letter,  and  tho  above  prescription  ;  sealed  it  with  his 
own  sharply-cut  seal-ring,  1\.  G.,  in  old  English  letters,  and  then 
paused  over  tho  address. 

**  He'll  not  like  Mtiftcr  Coxc  outside ;  no  need  to  put  him  to 
uuneccssary  shame."     So  tho  direction  on  the  envelope  was — 

Edudid  Ciur,  Es(j. 

Then  Jilr.  Gibson  applied  himself,  to  the  professional  business 
which  had  brought  him  homo  so  opportunely  and  unexpectedly,  and 
afterwards  he  went  back  through  the  garden  to  tho  stables  ;  and  just 
as  he  had  mounted  his  horse,  ho  said  to  tho  stable-man, — "  Oh  !  by 
the  way,  here's  a  letter  for  Mr.  Coxe.  Don't  send  it  through  the 
women  ;  take  it  round  yourself  to  the  surgery-door,  and  do  it  at 
once." 

The  slight  smile  upon  his  face,  as  ho  rode  out  of  the  gates,  died 
away  as  soon  as  ho  found  himself  in  the  solitude  of  the  lanes.  Ho 
slackened  his  speed,  and  began  to  tliiuk.  It  was  ver)-  awkward,  he 
considered,  to  have  a  motherless  girl  growing  up  into  womanhood  in 
the  same  house  with  two  young  men,  even  if  she  only  met  them  at 
meal-times ;  and  all  the  intercourse  they  had  with  each  other  was 
merely  tho  utterance  of  such  words  as,  "  May  I  help  you  to  potatoes  ?  " 
or,  as  Mr.  Wynne  would  persevere  iu  saying,  "  May  I  assist  you  to 
potatoes  ?  " — a  fonn  of  speech  which  gi-ated  daily  more  and  more 
upon  Mr.  Gibson's  cars.  Yet  3Ir.  Coxc,  tho  ofl'endcr  in  this  atfair 
which  had  just  occuiTed,  had  to  remain  for  thi-ce  ycai*s  more  as 
a  pupil  in  Mi-.  Gibson'?  family.     He  should  bo  the  very  last  of  the 


48  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTEES. 

race.  Still  there  were  three  j'ears  to  be  got  over  ;  aud  if  this  stupid 
passionate  calf-love  of  his  lasted,  what  was  to  be  done  ?  Sooner  or 
later  Molly  would  become  aware  of  it.  The  contingencies  of  the 
affair  were  so  excessively  disagreeable  to  contemplate,  that  Mr.  Gibson 
determined  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  his  mind  by  a  good  strong 
effort.  He  put  his  horse  to  a  gallop,  and  found  that  the  violent 
shaking  over  the  lanes — paved  as  they  were  with  round  stones,  which 
had  been  dislocated  by  the  wear  and  tear  of  a  hundred  years — was 
the  very  best  thing  for  the  spirits,  if  not  for  the  bones.  He  made  a 
long  round  that  afternoon,  and  came  back  to  his  home  imagining 
that  the  worst  was  over,  and  that  Mr.  Coxe  would  have  taken  the 
hint  conveyed  in  the  prescription.  All  that  would  be  needed  was  to 
find  a  safe  place  for  the  unfortunate  Bethia,  who  had  displayed  such 
a  daring  aptitude  for  intrigue.  But  Mr.  Gibson  reckoned  without  his 
host.  It  was  the  habit  of  the  young  men  to  come  in  to  tea  with  the 
family  in  the  dining-room,  to  swallow  two  cups,  munch  their  bread 
and  toast,  and  then  disappear.  This  night  Mr.  Gibson  watched  their 
countenances  furtively  from  under  his  long  eye-lashes,  while  he  tried 
against  his  wont  to  keep  up  a  degage  manner,  and  a  brisk  conversa- 
tion on  general  subjects.  He  saw  that  Mr.  Wynne  was  on  the  point 
of  breaking  out  into  laughter,  and  that  red-haired,  red-faced  Mr.  Coxe 
was  redder  and  fiercer  than  ever,  while  his  whole  aspect  aud  ways 
betrayed  indignation  and  anger. 

"  He  will  have  it,  will  he  ?"  thought  Mr.  Gibson  to  himself;  and 
he  girded  up  ,his  loins  for  the  battle.  He  did  not  follow  Molly  and 
Miss  Eyre  into  the  drawing-room  as  he  usually  did.  He  remained 
where  he  was,  pretending  to  read  the  newspaper,  while  Bethia,  her 
face  swelled  up  with  crying,  and  with  an  aggrieved  and  offended 
aspect,  removed  the  tea-things.  Not  five  minutes  after  the  room  was 
cleared,  came  the  expected  tap  at  the  door.  "  May  I  speak  to  you, 
sir  ?  "  said  the  invisible  Mr.  Coxe,  from  outside. 

"To  be  sure.  Come  in,  Mr.  Coxe.  I  was  rather  wanting  to 
talk  to  you  about  that  bill  of  Corbyn's.     Pray  sit  down." 

"It  is  about  nothing  of  that  kind,  sir,  that  I  wanted — that  I 
wished — No,  thank  you — I  would  rather  not  sit  down."  He,  accord- 
ingly, stood  in  offended  dignity.  "It  is  about  that  letter,  sir — that 
letter  with  the  insulting  prescription,  sir." 

"  Insulting  prescription  !  I  am  surprised  at  such  a  word  being 
applied  to  any  prescription  of  mine — though,  to  be  sure,  patients  are 
sometimes  offended  at  being  told  the  nature  of  their  illnesses  ;  aud, 


CALF-LOVE.  49 

I  ilarosay,  they  may  take  offonco  nt  the  mcilicincs  which  their  cases 
iV(|uin'." 

"  I  ilitl  not  aslv  you  to  prescribe  for  ino." 

"  Oil,  uo  !  Then  you  were  tho  Master  Coxo  wlio  sent  the  note 
through  Btlliia  !  Let  nie  tell  you  it  has  cost  her  her  place,  and  was 
ii  very  silly  letter  into  tho  bargain." 

"  It  was  not  tho  conduct  of  a  gentleman,  sir,  to  intercept  it,  and 
to  open  it,  and  to  read  words  never  addressed  to  you,  sir." 

"  No  !  "  said  Mr.  Gibson,  with  a  slight  twinkle  in  his  eye  and  a 
curl  on  his  lips,  not  unnoticed  by  tho  indignant  Mr.  Coxe.  "  I 
believe  I  was  once  considered  tolerably  good-looking,  and  I  daresay 
I  was  as  great  a  coxcomb  as  any  ono  at  twenty ;  but  I  don't  think 
that  even  then  I  should  quite  have  believed  that  all  those  pretty  com- 
pliments were  addressed  to  myself." 

"  It  was  not  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman,  sir,"  repeated  Mr.  Coxe, 
stammering  over  his  words — lie  was  going  on  to  say  something  more, 
when  Mr.  Gibson  broke  in, — 

"  And  let  mo  tell  you,  young  man,"  replied  Mr.  Gibson,  with  a 
sudden  sternness  in  his  voice,  "that  what  you  have  done  is  only 
fxcusablo  in  consideration  of  your  j'outh  and  extreme  ignorance 
of  what  arc  considered  tho  laws  of  domestic  honour.  I  receive  you 
into  my  house  as  a  member  of  the  family — you  induce  one  of  my 
servants — corrupting  her  with  a  bribe,  I  have  no  doubt " 

"  Indeed,  sir  !  I  never  gave  her  a  penny." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  done.  You  should  always  pay  those 
who  do  your  dirt}-  work." 

"  Just  now,  sir,  you  called  it  corrupting  with  a  bribe,"  muttered 
:\Ir.  Coxe. 

"  Mr.  Gibson  took  no  notico  of  this  speech,  but  went  on — 
"  Inducing  one  of  my  servants  to  risk  her  place,  without  offericg  her 
tho  slightest  equivalent,  by  begging  her  to  convey  a  letter  clandes- 
tinely to  my  daughter — a  mere  child." 

"  Miss  Gibson,  sir,  is  nearly  seventeen !  I  heard  you  say  so 
only  tho  other  day,"  said  Mr.  Coxe,  aged  twenty.  Again  Mr.  Gibsoa 
ignored  tho  remark. 

"A  letter  which  yon  were  unwilling  to  have  seen  by  her  father, 
v.lio  had  tacitly  trusted  to  your  honour,  by  receiving  you  as  an  inmato 
of  his  house.  Your  father's  son — I  know  Major  Coxe  well — ought 
to  have  come  to  me,  and  have  said  out  openly,  Mr.  Gibson,  I  love — 
or  I  fancy  thftt  I  love — your  daughter;  I  do  not  think  it  right  to 
Vol.  I.  4 


50  AVIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

conceal  this  from  j'ou,  altliougli  unable  to  earn  a  peunj' ;  an<l  with  no 
prospect  of  an  unassisted  livelihood,  even  for  myself,  for  several 
years,  I  s.hall  not  say  a  word  about  my  feelings — or  fancied  feelings 
— to  the  very  young  lady  herseE.  That  is  what  your  father's  son 
ought  to  have  said  ;  if,  indeed,  a  couple  of  grains  of  reticent  silence 
would  not  have  been  better  still." 

"  And  if  I  had  said  it,  sir — perhaps  I  ought  to  have  said  it," 
said  Mr.  Coxe,  in  a  hurry  of  anxiety,  "  what  would  have  been  your 
answer  ?     Would  you  have  sanctioned  my  passion,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  said,  most  probably — I  will  not  be  certain  of  my 
exact  words  in  a  suppositious  case — that  you  were  a  young  fool,  but 
not  a  dishonourable  young  fool,  and  I  should  have  told  you  not  to  let 
your  thoughts  run  upon  a  calf-love  until  you  had  magnified  it  into  a 
passion.  And  I  daresay,  to  make  up  for  the  mortification  I  should 
have  given  you,  I  should  have  prescribed  your  joining  the  Hollingford 
Cricket  Club,  and  set  you  at  liberty  as  often  as  I  could  on  the 
Saturday  afternoons.  As  it  is,  I  must  write  to  your  father's  agent 
in  London,  and  ask  him  to  remove  you  out  of  my  household,  repay- 
ing the  premium,  of  course,  which  will  enable  you  to  start  afresh  in 
some  other  doctor's  surgery." 

"  It  will  so  grieve  my  father,"  said  Mr.  Coxe,  startled  into 
dismay,  if  not  repentance. 

"  I  see  no  other  course  open.  It  will  give  Major  Coxe  some 
trouble  (I  shall  take  care  that  he  is  at  no  extra  expense),  but  what 
I  think  will  grieve  him  the  most  is  the  betrayal  of  confidence ; 
for  I  trusted  you,  Robert,  like  a  son  of  my  own  !  "  There  was 
something  in  jMr,  Gibson's  voice  when  he  spoke  seriously, 
especially  when  he  referred  to  any  feeling  of  his  ovrn — he  v/ho 
so  rarely  betrayed  what  was  passing  in  his  heart — that  was  irre- 
sistible to  most  people :  the  change  from  joking  and  sarcasm  to 
tender  gravity. 

Mr.  Coxe  hung  his  head  a  little,  and  meditated. 

"  I  do  love  Miss  Gibson,"  said  he,  at  length.  "  Who  could 
help  it  ?  " 

**  Mr.  Wynne,  I  hope  !  "  said  Mr.  Gibson. 

"  His  heart  is  pre-engaged,"  replied  Mr.  Coxe.  "  Mine  was 
free  as  air  till  I  saw  her." 

"  Would  it  tend  to  cure  your — well !  passion,  we'll  say — if  she 
wore  blue  spectacles  at  meal-times  ?  I  observe  you  dwell  much  on 
the  beauty  of  her  eyes." 


CALF- LOVE.  61 

"  You  iiro  riJic'uling  my  foelinps,  Mr.  Gibsou.  Do  you  forget 
thill  you  yourself  wore  young  once  ?" 

"Poor  Joaaio"  rose  before  Mr.  Gibson's  eyes;  and  Lo  felt  a 
little  rcbukeil. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Coxo,  lot  us  see  if  we  cau't  muke  a  b»irgain,"  said 
he,  afL'r  a  minute  or  so  of  silence.  "  You  have  done  a  really  wrong 
thing,  and  I  hope  you  arc  convinced  of  it  iu  your  heart,  or  that  you 
will  bo  when  the  heat  of  this  discussion  is  over,  and  you  come  to 
think  a  little  about  it.  But  I  won't  lose  all  respect  for  your  father's 
Kou.  If  you  will  give  me  your  word  that,  as  long  as  you  remain  a 
member  of  my  family — pupil,  apprentice,  what  you  will — you  won't 
again  tiy  to  jdiscloso  your  passion — you  see  I  am  careful  to  take 
your  view  of  what  I  should  call  a  mere  fancy — by  word  or  writing, 
looks  or  acts,  in  any  manner  whatever,  to  my  daughter,  or  to  talk 
about  your  feelings  to  any  ono  else,  you  shall  remain  here.  If  you 
cannot  give  me  your  word,  I  must  follow  out  the  course  I  named, 
and  ^vrite  to  your  father's  agent." 

"Mr.  Coxe  stood  irresolute. 

"  Mr.  "\V3-nno  knows  all  I  feel  for  Jliss  Gibson,  sir.  He  and  I 
have  no  secrets  from  each  other." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  he  must  represent  the  reeds.  Y^ou  know  the 
story  of  Iving  Jlidas's  bai'ber,  who  found  out  that  his  royal  master 
had  the  ears  of  an  ass  beneath  his  hyacinthine  curls.  So  the 
barber,  in  default  of  a  Mr.  Wynne,  went  to  the  reeds  that  grew 
on  the  shores  of  a  neighbouring  lake,  and  whispered  to  them, 
'  King  Midas  has  the  eai's  of  an  ass.'  But  he  repeated  it  so  often 
that  the  reeds  learnt  the  words,  and  kept  on  saying  them  all  day 
long,  till  at  last  the  secret  was  no  secret  at  all.  K  you  keep 
on  telling  your  tale  to  Mr.  Wynne,  are  you  sure  he  won't  repeat 
it  in  liis  tui-n  ?" 

"If  I  pledge  my  word  as  a  gentleman,  sir,  I  pledge  it  for 
Mr.  Wynne  as  well." 

"I  suppose  I  must  run  the  risk.  But  remember  how  soon  a 
young  girl's  name  may  bo  breathed  upon,  and  sullied.  Molly  has  no 
mother,  and  for  that  ver}-  reason  she  ought  to  move  among  you  all, 
as  unharmed  as  Una  herself." 

"  Mr.  Gibsou,  if  you  wish  it,  I'll  swear  it  on  the  Bible,"  cried  the 
excitable  young  man. 

"  Nonsense.  As  if  your  word,  if  it's  worth  anything,  was  not 
enough  !     We'll  shake  hands  upon  it,  if  you  like." 

i—2 


52  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

Mr.  Coxe  came  forward  eagerly,  and  almost  squeezed  Mr.  Gibson's 
ring  into  his  finger. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  room,  he  said,  a  little  uneasily,  "  May  I 
give  Bethia  a  crown-piece  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  Leave  Bethia  to  me.  I  hope  you  won't  say 
another  word  to  her  while  she  is  here.  I  shall  see  that  she  gets  a 
respectable  place  when  she  goes  away." 

Then  Mr.  Gibson  rang  for  his  horse,  and  went  out  on  the  last 
visits  of  the  day.  He  used  to  reckon  that  he  rode  the  world  around 
in  the  course  of  the  year.  There  were  not  many  surgeons  in  the 
county  who  had  so  wide  a  range  of  practice  as  he  ;  he  went  to  lonely 
cottages  on  the  borders  of  great  commons  ;  to  farm-houses  at  the 
end  of  narrow  countiy  lanes  that  led  to  nowhere  else,  and  were  over- 
shadowed by  the  elms  and  beeches  overhead.  He  attended  all  the 
gentry  within  a  circle  of  fifteen  miles  round  Hollingford  ;  and  was 
the  appointed  doctor  to  the  still  greater  families  who  went  up  to 
London  every  February — as  the  fashion  then  was — and  returned  to 
their  acres  in  the  early  weeks  of  July.  He  was,  of  necessity,  a  great 
deal  from  home,  and  on  this  soft  and  pleasant  summer  evening  he  felt 
the  absence  as  a  great  evil.  He  was  startled  into  discovering  that 
his  little  one  was  growing  flist  into  a  woman,  and  already  the  passive 
object  of  some  of  the  strong  interests  that  affect  a  woman's  life  ; 
and  he — her  mother  as  well  as  her  father — so  much  away  that  he 
could  not  guard  her  as  he  would  have  wished.  The  end  of  his  cogi- 
tations was  that  ride  to  Hamley  the  next  morning,  when  he  proposed 
to  allow  his  daughter  to  accept  Mrs.  Hamley's  last  invitation — an 
invitation  that  had  been  declined  at  the  time. 

"  You  may  quote  against  me  the  proverb,  'He  that  will  not  when 
he  may,  when  he  will  he  shall  have  nay.'  And  I  shall  have  no  reason 
to  complain,"  he  had  said. 

But  Mrs.  Hamley  was  only  too  much  charmed  with  the  prospect 
of  having  a  young  girl  for  a  visitor ;  one  whom  it  would  not  be  a 
trouble  to  entertain ;  who  might  be  sent  out  to  ramble  in  the  gardens, 
or  told  to  read  when  the  invalid  was  too  much  fatigued  for  conversa- 
tion ;  and  yet  one  whose  youth  and  freshness  would  bring  a  charm, 
like  a  waffc  of  sweet  summer  air,  into  her  lonely  shut-up  life. 
Nothing  could  be  pleasanter,  and  so  Molly's  visit  to  Hamley  was 
easily  settled. 

"  I  only  wish  Osborne  and  Roger  had  been  at  home,"  said 
Mrs.  Hamley,  in  her  low  soft  voice.     "  She  may  find  it  dull,  being 


CALi'-Lovi;.  68 

with  dill  people,  like  the  t;quiro  ami  mc,  iVoiu  morning  till  night. 
When  can  she  conic  ".'  tlio  durliug — I  um  bcgiuuiug  to  lovo  her 
already  1" 

Mr.  Gibson  was  very  glad  in  Lis  heart  that  the  young  men  of  tho 
houso  woro  out  of  tho  way ;  ho  did  not  want  his  little  Molly  to  bo 
passing  from  Scylla  to  Charybilis  ;  and,  as  he  aftcnvards  scoffed  at 
himself  for  thinking,  ho  had  got  an  idea  that  all  young  men  were 
wolves  in  chase  of  his  ono  ewe-lamb. 

"  Siio  knows  nothing  of  the  pleasure  in  store  for  her,"  he  replied  ; 
"  and  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  feminine  preparations  she  may 
think  necessary,  or  how  long  they  may  take.  You'll  remember  she 
is  a  little  ignoramus,  and  has  had  no  ...  .  training  in  etiquette  ; 
our  ways  at  home  are  rather  rough  for  a  girl,  I'm  afraid.  But  I 
know  I  could  not  send  her  into  a  kinder  atmosphere  than  this." 

AVhen  tho  squire  heard  from  his  wife  of  Mr.  Gibson's  proposal, 
ho  was  as  much  pleased  as  she  at  the  prospect  of  their  youthful 
visitor ;  for  he  was  a  man  of  a  hearty  hospitality,  when  his  pride  did 
not  interfere  with  its  gratiiicatiou ;  and  he  was  delighted  to  think  of 
his  sick  wife's  having  such  an  agreeable  companion  in  her  hours  of 
loneliness.  After  a  while  he  said, — "  It's  as  well  the  lads  are  at 
Cambridge ;  we  might  have  been  having  a  love-affau*  if  they  had 
been  at  home." 

"  Well — and  if  wc  had?"  asked  his  more  romantic  wife. 

"  It  would  not  have  done,"  said  the  squire,  decidedly.  "Osbomo 
will  have  had  a  first-rate  education — as  good  as  any  man  in  the 
county— he'll  have  this  property,  and  he's  a  Hamley  of  Hamley  ; 
not  a  family  in  tho  shire  is  as  old  as  wo  are,  or  settled  on  their 
ground  so  well.  Osbonie  may  marry  wlieu  ho  likes.  If  Lord  Hol- 
lingford  had  a  daughter,  Osborne  would  have  been  as  good  a  match 
as  she  could  have  required.  It  would  never  do  for  him  to  fall  in 
lovo  with  Gibson's  daughter — I  should  not  allow  it.  So  it's  as  well 
he's  out  of  tho  way." 

"  Well !  perhaps  Osborne  had  better  look  higher." 

"  Perhaps  !  I  say  he  must."  The  squire  brought  his  hand 
down  with  a  thump  on  tho  table,  near  him,  which  made  his  wife's 
heart  beat  hard  for  some  minutes.  "  And  as  for  Roger,"  he  con- 
tinued, unconscious  of  tho  flutter  ho  had  put  her  into,  "  he'll  have 
to  make  his  own  way,  and  eani  his  own  bread ;  and,  I'm  afraid,  he's 
not  getting  on  very  brilliantly  at  Cambridge.  Ho  must  not  think  of 
falling  in  love  for  these  ton  vears." 


54  WIVES   AND-  DAUGHTERS. 

"  Unless  he  marries  a  foi-tune,"  said  Mrs.  Hamley,  more  by  way 
of  concealing  her  palpitation  than  anything  else ;  for  she  was 
unworldly  and  romantic  to  a  fault. 

"  No  son  of  mine  shall  ever  marry  a  wife  who  is  richer  than 
himself  with  my  good  will,"  said  the  squire  again,  with  emphasis, 
but  without  a  thump. 

"  I  don't  say  but  what  if  lioger  is  gaining  five  hundred  a  year 
by  the  time  he's  thirty,  he  shall  not  choose  a  'wife  with  ten  thousand 
pounds  down ;  but  I  do  say,  if  a  boy  of  mine,  with  only  two  hundred 
a  year — which  is  all  Roger  will  have  from  us,  and  that  not  for  a  long 
time — goes  and  marries  a  woman  with  fifty  thousand  to  her  portion, 
I  will  diso-\\Ti  him — it  would  be  just  disgusting." 

"  Not  if  they  loved  each  other,  and  their  v.hole  happiness  de- 
pended upon  their  marrying  each  other,"  put  in  Mrs.  Hamley, 
mildly. 

"  Pooh  !  away  with  love  !  Nay,  my  dear,  we  loved  each  other 
so  dearly  we  should  never  have  been  happy  with  any  one  else  ;  but 
that's  a  different  thing.  People  are  not  like  what  they  were  when 
we  were  young.  All  the  love  nowadays  is  just  silly  fancy,  and 
sentimental  romance,  as  far  as  I  can  see." 

Mr.  Gibson  thought  that  he  had  settled  everything  about  Molly's 
going  to  Hamley  befoi-e  he  spoke  to  her  about  it,  which  he  did  not 
do,  until  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Mrs.  Hamley  expected 
her.  Then  he  said, — "  By  the  way,  Molly  !  you  are  to  go  to  Hamley 
this  afternoon  ;  Mrs.  Hamley  wants  you  to  go  to  her  for  a  week  or 
two,  and  it  suits  me  capitally  that  you  should  accept  her  invitation 
just  now." 

"Go  to  Hamley !  This  afternoon  !  Papa,  you've  got  some  odd 
reasons  at  the  back  of  your  head — some  mystery,  or  something. 
Please,  tell  me  what  it  is.  Go  to  Hamley  for  a  week  or  two  !  "Why, 
I  never  was  from  home  before  this  without  you  in  all  my  life." 

"  Perhaps  not.  I  don't  think  you  ever  walked  before  you  put 
your  feet  to  the  ground.     Eveiything  must  have  a  beginning." 

"  It  has  something  to  do  with  that  letter  that  was  directed  to  me, 
but  that  you  took  out  of  my  hands  before  I  could  even  see  the 
writing  of  the  direction."  She  fixed  her  grey  eyes  on  her  father's 
face,  as  if  she  meant  to  pluck  out  his  secret. 

He  only  smiled  and  said, — "  You're  a  witch,  goosey!" 

"  Then  it  had !  But  if  it  was  a  note  from  Mrs.  Hamley,  why 
might  I  not  see  it  ?     I  have  been  wondering  if  you  had  some  plan 


CALK-LOVK.  65 

in  yonr  head  ever  since  that  Jay. — Tlinrsday,  was  not  it  ?  You've 
gone  about  in  a  kind  of  thoughtful,  perplexed  way,  just  like  a  con- 
spirator. Tell  mo,  papa  " — ooniing  up  at  the  time,  and  puttin<;  on  a 
beseeching  manner — "  why  might  not  I  see  that  note?  and  why  um 
I  to  go  to  Ilamloy  all  on  a  sudden  ?" 

"  Don't  yoa  like  to  go  ?  Would  you  rather  not  ?"  If  she  had 
said  that  she  did  not  want  to  go  ho  would  have  been  rather  pleased 
than  otlu  rwiso,  although  it  would  have  put  him  into  a  great  per- 
plexity; but  ho  was  beginning  to  dread  the  parting  from  her  even 
lor  so  short  a  time.     Ilowever,  ^ho  replied  directly, — 

"  I  don't  know — I  daresay  I  shall  like  it  when  I  have  thought 
a  little  more  about  it.  Just  now  I  am  so  startled  by  the  suddenness 
of  the  affair,  I  haven't  considered  whether  I  shall  like  it  or  not.  I 
shan't  like  going  away  from  you,  I  know.     Why  am  I  to  go,  papa  ?  " 

"  There  are  three  old  ladies  sitting  somewhere,  and  thinking 
about  you  just  at  this  verj-  minute  ;  one  has  a  distaff  in  her  hand.?, 
and  is  spinning  a  thread  ;  she  has  come  to  a  knot  in  it,  and  is  puzzled 
what  to  do  with  it.  Her  sister  has  a  great  pair  of  scissors  in  her 
hands,  and  wants — as  she  always  does,  wlieu  any  ditficulty  arises  in 
the  smoothness  of  the  thread — to  cut  it  off  short ;  but  the  third, 
who  has  the  most  head  of  the  three,  plans  how  to  undo  the  knot  ; 
and  she  it  is  who  has  decided  that  you  are  to  go  to  Hamley.  The 
othei*s  are  quite  convinced  by  her  argiaments ;  so,  as  the  Fates 
have  decreed  that  this  visit  is  to  be  paid,  there  is  nothing  left  for 
you  and  me  but  to  submit." 

"  That  ia  all  nonsense,  papa,  and  you  are  only  making  me  more 
curious  to  find  out  this  hidden  reason." 

Mr.  Gibson  changed  his  tone,  and  spoke  gravely  now.  "  There 
is  a  reason,  Molly,  and  one  which  I  do  not  wish  to  give.  When  I 
tell  you  this  much,  I  expect  you  to  be  an  honourable  girl,  and  to  try 
and  not  even  conjecture  what  the  reason  may  be, — much  less  en- 
deavour to  put  little  discoveries  together  till  very  likely  you  may  find 
out  what  1  want  to  conceal." 

"  Papa,  I  won't  even  think  about  your  reason  again.  But  then 
I  shall  havo  to  plague  you  with  another  question.  I  have  had  no 
new  gown  this  year,  and  I  havo  outgrown  all  my  last  summer  frocks. 
I  have  only  three  that  I  can  wear  at  all.  Betty  was  saying  only 
yesterday  that  I  ought  to  have  some  more." 

"  That'll  do  that  you  havo  got  on,  won't  it  ?  It's  a  very  pretty 
colour." 


56  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  Yes  ;  but,  papa  "  (holding  "it  out  as  if  slie  was  going  to  dance), 
"  it's  made  of  woollen,  and  so  hot  and  heavy  ;  and  every  day  it  will 
he  getting  wanner." 

"  I  wish  girls  could  dress  like  hoys,"  said  Mr.  Gibson,  with  a 
little  impatience.  "  How  is  a  man  to  know  when  his^  daughter  wants 
clothes  ?  and  how  is  he  to  rig  her  out  when  he  finds  it  out,  just 
when  she  needs  them  most  and  hasn't  got  them  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that's  the  question  !  "  said  Molly,  in  some  despair. 
"  Can't  you  go  to  Miss  Rose's  ?     Doesn't  she  keep  ready-made 
frocks  for  girls  of  your  age  ?  " 

"  Miss  Rose  !  I  never  had  anything  from  her  in  my  life,"  replied 
Molly,  in  some  surprise ;  for  Miss  Rose  was  the  great  dressmaker 
and  milliner  of  the  little  town,  and  hitherto  Betty  had  made  the 
girl's  frocks. 

"  Well,  but  it  seems  people  consider  5-ou  as  a  young  woman  now, 
and  so  I  suppose  you  must  run  up  milliners'  bills  like  the  rest  of 
your  kind.  Not  that  you're  to  get  anything  anywhere  that  you  can't 
l^ay  for  down  in  ready  money.  Here's  a  ten-pound  note  ;  go  to 
Miss  Rose's,  or  Miss  anybody's,  and  get  what  you  want  at  once. 
The  Hamlcy  carriage  is  to  come  for  you  at  two,  and  anything  that 
isn't  quite  ready,  can  easily  be  sent  by  their  cart  on  Saturday,  when 
some  of  their  people  always  come  to  market.  Nay,  don't  thank  me  ! 
I  don't  want  to  have  the  money  spent,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  go 
and  leave  me :  I  shall  miss  you,  I  know ;  it's  only  hard  necessity 
that  drives  me  to  send  you  a-visiting,  and  to  throw  avray  ten  pounds 
on  your  clothes.  There,  go  away;  you're  a  plague,  and  I  mean  to 
leave  off  loving  joix  as  fast  as  I  can." 

"Papa!  "  holding  up  her  finger  as  in  warning,  "  you're  getting 
mysterious  again ;  and  though  my  honourableuess  is  very  strong,  I 
won't  promise  that  it  shall  not  yield  to  my  curiosity  if  you  go  on 
hinting  at  untold  secrets." 

"  Go  away  and  spend  your  ten  pounds.  What  did  I  give  it  you 
for  but  to  keep  you  quiet  ?  " 

Miss  Rose's  ready-made  resources  and  Molly's  taste  combined, 
did  not  arrive  at  a  very  great  success.  She  bought  a  lilac  print, 
because  it  would  wash,  and  would  be  cool  and  pleasant  for  the 
mornings  ;  and  this  Betty  could  make  at  home  before  Saturday. 
And  for  high-days  and  holidays — by  which  was  understood  after- 
noons and  Sundays  —  Miss  Rose  persuaded  her  to  order  a  gay- 
coloured  flimsy  plaid  silk,  which  she  assured  her  was  quite  the  latest 


CALF-LOVE.  57 

fashion  in  Loiulou,  auil  which  Molly  thought  would  plcaso  her 
fiithor's  Scotch  blood.  Hut  whcu  ho  saw  tlio  scrap  which  nho  had 
brought  homo  as  a  pattern,  ho  cried  out  that  tho  plaid  belonged  to 
no  clan  in  existence,  and  that  Molly  ought  to  havo  known  this  by 
instinct.  It  was  too  lato  to  change  it,  however,  for  Miss  Koso  had 
promised  to  cut  the  dress  out  as  soon  as  ^lolly  left  her  shop. 

Mr.  Gibson  had  hung  about  tho  town  all  tho  morning  instead  of 
going  away  ou  his  usual  distant  rides.  lie  passed  his  daughter 
onco  or  twice  in  tho  street,  but  ho  did  not  cross  over  when  he  was 
on  tho  opposite  side — only  gave  her  a  look  or  a  nod,  and  went  ou  his 
way,  scolding  himself  for  his  weakness  in  feeling  so  much  pain  at 
tho  thought  of  her  absence  for  a  fortnight  or  so. 

"And,  after  all,"  thought  he,  "  I'm  only  where  I  was  when  she 
comes  back ;  at  least,  if  that  foolish  fellow  goes  on  with  his  imagi- 
nating  fancy.  She'll  have  to  como  back  some  time,  and  if  ho  chooses 
to  imagine  himself  constant,  there's  still  the  devil  to  pay."  Presently 
ho  began  to  hum  the  aii*  out  of  the  "  Beggar's  Opera  " — 

I  wonder  niiy  man  alive 

Should  ever  rear  a  daii;rhtcr. 


(     58     ) 


CHAPTER  YI. 

A  VISIT   TO    THE    HAilLEYS. 

Of  course  the  news  of  Miss  Gibson's  approaehiug  departure  had 
spread  through  the  household  befor^e  the  one  o'clock  dinner-time 
came  ;  and  Mr.  Coxe's  dismal  countenance  was  a  source  of  much 
inward  irritation  to  Mr.  Gibson,  Avho  kept  giving  the  youth  shai^p 
glances  of  savage  reproof  for  his  melancholy  face,  and  want  of 
appetite  ;  which  he  trotted  out,  with  a  good  deal  of  sad  ostentation  ; 
all  of  which  was  lost  upon  Molly,  who  was  too  full  of  her  own  per- 
sonal concerns  to  have  any  thought  or  observation  to  spare  from 
them,  excepting  once  or  twice  when  she  thought  of  the  many  days 
that  must  pass  over  before  she  should  again  sit  do^^•n  to  dinner  with 
her  father. 

When  she  named  this  to  him  after  the  meal  was  done,  and  they 
were  sitting  together  in  the  drawing-room,  waiting  for  the  sound  of 
the  wheels  of  the  Hamley  carriage,  he  laughed,  and  said, — 

"  I'm  coming  over  to-morrow  to  see  Mrs.  Hamley  ;  and  I  dare- 
say I  shall  dine  at  their  lunch  ;  so  you  won't  have  to  wait  long  before 
you've  the  treat  of  seeing  the  wdld  beast  feed." 

Then  they  heard  the  approaching  carriage. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  said  Molly,  catching  at  his  hand,  "  I  do  so  wish  I 
was  not  going,  now  that  the  time  is  come." 

"Nonsense;  don't  let  us  have  any  sentiment.  Have  you  got 
your  keys  ?  that's  more  to  the  purpose." 

"Yes;  she  had  got  her  keys,  and  her  purse  ;  and  her  little  box 
was  put  up  on  the  seat  by  the  coachman  ;  and  her  father  handed  her 
in  ;  the  door  was  shut,  and  she  drove  away  in  solitary  grandeur, 
looking  back  and  kissing  her  hand  to  her  father,  who  stood  at  the 
gate,  in  spite  of  his  dislike  of  sentiment,  as  long  as  the  carriage 
could  be  seen.     Then  he  turned  into  the  surgery,  and  found  Mr. 


A    VISIT   TO  TlIK    1IAMLEV8.  69 

'  Coxe  bad  luul  his  watching  too,  aud  had,  iudocd,  remained  at  the 
window  f^tiziuf,',  moonstrack,  nt  the  empty  road,  u[)  which  llie  young 
lady  Iiiul  disiij)[U'iired.  Mr.  Ctibsou  stiirtled  him  from  his  reverio  by 
a  sharp,  almost  venomous,  speech  about  some  small  neglect  of  duty 
n  day  or  two  before.  That  night  Mr.  Gibson  inaislcd  on  passing  by 
tlie  bedside  of  a  poor  girl  whoso  parents  wcro  vroru-out  by  many 
wakeful  anxious  nights  succeeding  to  hard-working  days. 

Molly  cried  a  little,  but  checked  her  tears  as  soon  as  she  remem- 
bered how  annoyed  her  father  would  have  been  at  the  bight  of  them. 
It  was  \evy  pleasant  driving  quickly  along  in  the  luxurious  carriage, 
through  the  pretty  green  lanes,  with  dog-roses  and  honeysuckles  so 
plentiful  aud  fresh  iu  the  hedges,  that  she  once  or  twice  was  tempted 
to  ask  the  coachman  to  stop  till  she  had  gathered  a  nosegay.  She 
began  to  dread  the  end  of  her  little  journey  of  seven  miles ;  the 
only  drawback  to  which  was,  that  her  silk  was  not  a  true  clan-tartan, 
and  a  little  uucci-tainty  as  to  Miss  Rose's  punctuality.  At  length 
they  came  to  a  village  ;  straggling  cottages  lined  the  road,  an  old 
church  stood  on  a  kind  of  gi*een,  with  the  public-house  close  by  it ; 
there  was  a  gi-eat  tree,  with  a  bench  all  round  the  trunk,  midway 
between  the  church  gates  and  the  little  inn.  The  wooden  stocks 
were  close  to  the  gates.  Molly  had  long  passed  the  limit  of  her 
rides,  but  she  knew  this  must  be  the  village  of  Hamley,  and  they 
must  be  very  near  to  the  hall. 

They  swung  in  at  the  gates  of  the  park  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
drove  up  through  meadow-grass,  ripening  for  hay, — it  was  no  grand 
aristocratic  deer-park  this — to  the  old  red-brick  hall ;  not  three 
hundred  yards  from  the  high-road.  There  had  been  no  footman  sent 
with  the  carriage,  but  a  respectable  servant  stood  at  the  door,  even 
before  they  drew  up,  ready  to  receive  the  expected  visitor,  and  take 
her  into  the  drawing-room  where  his  mistress  lay  awaiting  her. 

Mrs.  Uamley  rose  from  her  sofa  to  give  Molly  a  gentle  welcome  ; 
she  kept  the  girl's  hand  in  hers  after  she  had  finished  speaking, 
looking  into  her  face,  as  if  studying  it,  and  unconscious  of  the  faint 
blush  she  called  up  on  the  otlierwise  colourless  cheeks. 

*'  I  think  we  shall  be  great  friends,"  said  she,  at  length.  '•  I  like 
your  face,  and  I  am  always  guided  by  first  impressions.  Give  me  a 
kiss,  my  dear." 

It  was  far  easier  to  be  active  than  passive  during  this  process  of 
*'  swearing  eternal  friendship,"  and  Molly  willingly  kissed  the  sweet 
pale  face  held  up  to  her. 


60  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTEES. 

"  I  meant  to  have  gone  and  fotclied  you  mj'self ;  but  the  heat 
oppresses  me,  and  I  did  not  feel  up  to  the  exertion.  I  hope  you  had 
a  pleasant  drive  ?  " 

"  Very,"  said  Molly,  \vith  shy  conciseness. 

"  And  now  I  will  take  you  to  your  room ;  I  have  had  j'ou  pat 
close  to  me ;  I  thought  you  would  like  it  better,  even  though  it  was 
a  smaller  room  than  the  other. 

She  rose  languidly,  and  wrapping  her  light  shawl  round  her  yet 
elegant  figure,  led  the  way  upstairs.  Molly's  bedroom  opened  out  of 
Mrs.  Hamley's  private  sitting-room ;  on  the  other  side  of  which  was 
her  own  bedroom.  She  showed  Molly  this  easy  means  of  communi- 
cation, and  then,  telling  her  visitor  she  would  await  her  in  the 
sitting-room,  she  closed  the  door,  and  Molly  was  left  at  leisure  to 
make  acquaintance  \vitli  her  surroundings. 

First  of  all,  she  went  to  the  window  to  see  what  was  to  be  seen. 
A  flower-garden  right  below ;  a  meadow  of  ripe  grass  just  beyond, 
changing  colour  in  long  sweeps,  as  the  soft  wind  blew  over  it ;  great 
old  forest-trees  a  little  on  one  side ;  and,  beyond  them  again,  to  be 
seen  only  by  standing  very  close  to  the  side  of  the  window-sill,  or  by 
putting  her  head  out,  if  the  window  was  open,  the  silver  shimmer  of 
a  mere,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ofi\  On  the  opposite  side  to  the 
trees  and  the  mere,  the  look-out  was  bounded  by  the  old  walls  and 
high-peaked  roofs  of  the  extensive  farm-buildings.  The  delicious- 
ness  of  the  early  summer  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  song  of  the 
birds,  and  the  nearer  hum  of  bees.  Listening  to  these  sounds, 
which  enhanced  the  exquisite  sense  of  stillness,  and  puzzling  out 
objects  obscured  by  distance  or  shadow,  Molly  forgot  herself,  and 
was  suddenly  startled  into  a  sense  of  the  present  by  a  sound  of 
voices  in  the  next  room — some  servant  or  other  speaking  to  Mrs. 
Hamloy.  !Molly  hurried  to  unpack  her  box,  and  arrange  her  few 
clothes  in  the  pretty  old-fashioned  chest  of  di'awers,  which  was  to 
serve  her  as  dressing-table  as  well.  All  the  furniture  in  the  room 
was  as  old-fashioned  and  as  well-preseiTed  as  it  could  be.  The 
chintz  curtains  were  Indian  calico  of  the  last  centuiy — the  colours 
almost  washed  out,  but  the  stuft"  itself  exquisitely  clean.  There  was 
a  little  strip  of  bedside  cai-petiug,  but  the  wooden  flooring,  thus 
liberally  displayed,  Avas  of  finely-grained  oak,  so  firmly  joined,  plank 
to  plank,  that  no  grain  of  dust  could  make  its  way  into  the  inter- 
stices. There  were  none  of  the  luxuries  of  modern  days ;  no 
writing-table,  or  sofa,  or  pier-glass.     lu  one  corner  of  the  walls  was 


A  VISIT   TO   Tin:   HAMLKYS.  01 

a  bracket,  holdiiij:*  an  Iiuliiin  jar  lilli'd  with  pot-pourri ;  ninl  that  and 
Iho  oliiiihin;^  htnicysiu-klt'  oiitsido  tho  open  window  scented  tlio  room 
more  exquisitely  than  any  toilotto  perfumes.  Molly  laid  out  her 
white  gown  (of  last  year's  date  and  si/e)  upon  the  bed,  ready.for  tho 
(ti)  her  now)  operation  of  dressing  for  dinner,  and  liavin^;  arranged 
her  hair  and  dress,  and  taken  out  her  company  worsted-work,  she 
opened  tho  door  softly,  and  saw  Mrs.  Hamley  lying  on  tho  sofa. 

"  Shall  wo  stay  up  licre,  my  dear  ?  I  think  it  is  pleusantcr  than 
down  below ;  and  then  I  shall  not  have  to  come  upstairs  again  at 
dressing-time." 

"  I  shall  like  it  very  mucl),"  replied  Molly. 

"  Ah  !  you've  got  your  sewing,  like  a  good  girl,"  said  ^Irs. 
Hamley.  "  Now,  I  don't  sew  much.  I  livo  alono  a  gi-eut  deal. 
You  see,  both  my  boys  are  at  Cambridge,  and  the  squire  is  out  of 
loors  all  day  long — so  I  have  almost  forgotten  how  to  sew.  I  read 
1  great  deal.     Do  you  like  reading  ?  " 

"It  depends  upon  tho  kind  of  book,"  said  I\IoIly.     "  I'm  afraid  I 
Jon't  liko  '  steady  reading,'  as  papa  calls  it." 

"  Rut  you  like  poetry!"  said  Mrs.  Hamloy,  almost  interrupting 
Rlolly.  "  I  was  sure  you  did,  from  your  face.  Have  you  read  this 
iast  poem  of  Mrs.  Hemans  ?     Shall  I  read  it  aloud  to  you  ?  " 

So  she  began.  ]Molly  was  not  so  much  absorbed  in  listening 
but  that  she  could  glance  round  tho  room.  Tho  character  of  tho 
furniture  was  much  the  same  as  in  her  own.  Old-fashioned,  of 
aandsorao  material,  and  faultlessly  clean  ;  the  age  and  the  foreign 
ippoarancc  of  it  gave  an  aspect  of  comfort  and  pictui'esqueness  to 
die  whole  apartment.  On  tho  walls  there  hung  some  crayon  sketches 
— portraits.  She  thought  she  could  make  out  that  one  of  them  was 
i  likeness  of  Mrs.  Hamley,  in  her  beautiful  youth.  And  then  she 
jecame  interested  in  the  poem,  and  dropped  her  work,  and  listened 
n  a  manner  that  was  after  Mrs.  Hamley 's  own  heart.  ^Yhen  the 
•eading  of  the  poem  was  ended,  ^Irs.  Hamley  replied  to  some  of 
Molly's  words  of  admiration,  by  saying. 

''Ah!  I  think  I  must  read  you  some  of  Osborne's  poetry  some 
lay ;  under  seal  of  secrecy,  remember ;  but  I  really  fancy  they  are 
dmost  as  good  as  Mrs.  Hemans'." 

To  bo  nearly  as  good  as  Mr.  Hemans'  was  saying  as  much  to 
he  young  ladies  of  that  day,  as  saying  that  poetry  is  nearly  as 
;ood  as  Tennyson's  would  be  in  this.  Molly  looked  up  with  eager 
ntcrest. 


62 


WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 


"  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  ?     Does  your  son  write  poetry  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  really  think  I  may  say  he  is  a  poet.     He  is  a  very 
brilliant,  clever  young  man,  and  he  quite  hopes  to  get  a  fellowship 
at  Trinity.     He  says  he  is  sure  to  be  high  up  among  the  wranglers, 
and  that  he  expects  to  get  one  of  the  Chancellor's  medals.     That  is  ! 
his  likeness — the  one  hanging  against  the  wall  behind  you." 

Molly  turned  round,  and  saw''oue  of  the  crayon  sketches — repre- 
senting two  boys,  in  the  most  youthful  kind  of  jackets  and  trousers, 
and  falling  collars.  The  elder  was  sitting  down,  reading  intently. 
The  younger  was  standing  by  him,  and  evidently  trying  to  call  the 
attention  of  the  reader  off  to  some  object  out  of  doors — out  of  the 
window  of  the  very  room  in  which  they  were  sitting,  as  Molly  dis- 
covered when  she  began  to  recognize  the  articles  of  furniture  faintly 
indicated  in  the  picture. 

"  I  like  their  faces  !  "  said  Molly.  "  I  suppose  it  is  so  long  ago 
now,  that  I  may  speak  of  their  likenesses  to  you  as  if  they  were 
somebody  else  ;  may  not  I  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Hamley,  as  soon  as  she  understood  what 
Molly  meant.  "  Tell  me  just  what  you  think  of  them,  my  dear ; 
it  will  amuse  me  to  compare  your  impressions  with  what  they  really 
are." 

"  Oh  !  but  I  did  not  mean  to  guess  at  their  characters.  I  could 
not  do  it ;  and  it  would  be  impertinent,  if  I  could.  I  can  only  speak 
about  their  faces  as  I  see  them  in  the  picture. 

"  Well !  tell  me  what  you  think  of  them  !  " 

"  The  eldest — the  reading  boy — is  very  beautiful ;  but  I  can't 
quite  make  out  his  face  yet,  because  his  head  is  down,  and  I  can't 
see  the  eyes.     That  is  the  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  who  writes  poetry." 

"  Yes.  He  is  not  quite  so  handsome  now  ;  but  he  was  a  beauti- 
ful boy.     Koger  was  never  to  be  compared  with  him." 

*'  No  ;  he  is  not  handsome.  And  yet  I  like  his  face.  I  can  see 
his  eyes.  They  are  grave  and  solemn-looking ;  but  all  the  rest  of 
his  face  is  rather  merry  than  otherwise.  It  looks  too  steady  and 
sober,  too  good  a  face,  to  go  tempting  his  brother  to  leave  his 
lesson." 

"  Ah  !  but  it  was  not  a  lesson.  I  remember  the  painter, 
Mr.  Green,  once  saw  Osborne  reading  some  poetry,  while  Roger  was 
trying  to  persuade  him  to  come  out  and  have  a  ride  in  the  hay-cart — 
that  was  the  '  motive  '  of  the  picture,  to  speak  artistically.  Eoger 
is  not  much  of  a  reader ;  at  least,  he  doesn't  care  for  poetry,  and 


A  VISIT  TO  THE   IIAMLEYH.  03 

I  books  of  romance,  or  Ronlimcnt.  IIo  is  so  fnnJ  of  natnml  history  ; 
ami  that  takes  him,  like  the  squire,  a  groat  deal  out  of  doore  ;  and 
wlicu  lie  is  in,  lio  is  always  reading  scientific  books  that  hear  upon 
'  his  jiursuits.  He  is  a  good,  steady  fi How,  thougli,  and  gives  us  great 
Falisfaetion,  but  he  is  ilbt  likely  to  have  such  a  brilliant  career  as 
Osborne." 

Molly  tiiod  to  find  out  in  the  i>i('tiire  the  characteristics  of  the 
two  boys,  as  they  wore  now  explained  to  her  by  their  mother ;  and 
in  questions  and  answers  about  the  various  drawings  hung  round  the 
room  the  iimo  passed  away  until  the  drcssiug-bcU  rang  for  the  six 
o'clock  dinner. 

]Molly  was  rather  dismayed  by  tho  offers  of  the  maid  whom  Mrs. 
llaniley  had  sent  to  assist  her,  "  I  am  afraid  they  expect  me  to  be 
vory  smart,"  she  kojit  thinking  to  herself.  *'  If  they  do,  they'll  be 
disappointed ;  that's  all.  But  I  wish  my  plaid  silk  gown  had  been 
ready." 

She  looked  at  herself  in  tho  glass  witli  some  anxiety,  for  tho  first 
time  in  her  life.  She  saw  a  slight,  lean  figure,  promising  to  be  tall; 
a  complexion  browner  than  cream-coloured,  although  in  a  year  or  two 
it  might  have  that  tint ;  plentiful  curly  black  hair,  tied  up  in  a  bunch 
behind  with  a  rose-coloured  ribbon  ;  h)ng,  almond-shaped,  soft  gray 
eyes,  shaded  both  above  and  below  by  curling  black  eyelashes. 

"  I  don't  think  I  am  pretty,"  thought  Molly,  as  she  turned  away 
from  the  glass;  "  and  yet  I  am  not  sure."  She  would  have  been 
sure,  if,  instead  of  inspecting  herself  with  such  solemnity,  she  had 
smiled  her  o^vn  sweet  men-y  smilo,  and  called  out  the  gleam  of  her 
teeth,  and  the  charm  of  her  dimples. 

She  found  her  way  downstairs  into  the  drawing-room  in  good 
time  ;  she  could  look  about  her,  and  learn  how  to  feel  at  home  in  her 
new  quarters.  The  room  was  forty-feet  long  or  so,  fitted  up  with 
yellow  satin  at  some  distant  period  ;  high  spindle-legged  chairs  and 
penibrokc-tables  abounded.  The  carpet  was  of  the  same  date  as  the 
curtains,  and  was  thread-bare  in  many  places  ;  and  in  others  was 
covered  with  drugget.  Stands  of  plants,  great  jars  of  flowers,  old 
Indian  china  and  cabinets  gave  the  room  the  pleasant  aspect  it 
cei'tainly  had.  And  to  add  to  it,  there  were  five  high,  long  windows 
on  one  side  of  the  room,  all  opening  to  the  prettiest  bit  of  flowcr- 
gai'dcn  in  the  grounds — or  what  was  considered  as  such — brilliant- 
coloured,  geometrically-shaped  beds,  converging  to  a  sun-dial  in  tho 
midst.     The  squire  came  in  abx'uptly,  and  in  his  morning  dress  ;  he 


64  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

stood  at  the  door,  as  if  sui-prised  at  the  wliite-robed  stranger  iu 
possession  of  his  hearth.  Then,  suddenly  remembering  himself, 
hut  not  before  Molly  had  begun  to  feel  very  hot,  he  said — 

"  Why,  God  bless  my  soul,  I'd  quite  forgotten  you  ;  you're  Miss 
Gibson,  Gibson's  daughter,  aren't  you  ?  Come  to  pay  us  a  visit  ? 
I'm  sure  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear." 

By  this  time,  they  had  met  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  he 
was  shaking  Molly's  hand  with  vehement  friendliness,  intended  to 
mate  up  for  his  not  knowing  her  at  first. 

"  I  must  go  and  dress,  though,"  said  he,  looking  at  his  soiled 
gaiters.  "  Madam  likes  it.  It's  one  of  her  fine  Loudon  ways,  and 
she's  broken  me  into  it  at  last.  Veiy  good  plan,  though,  and  quite 
right  to  make  oneself  fit  for  ladies'  society.  Does  your  father  dress 
for  dinner.  Miss  Gibson  ?  "  He  did  not  stay  to  wait  for  her  answer, 
but  hastened  away  to  perform  his  toilette. 

They  dined  at  a  small  table  in  a  great  large  room.  There  were 
so  few  articles  of  furniture  in  it,  and  the  apartment  itself  was  so  vast, 
that  Molly  longed  for  the  suugness  of  the  home  dining-room ;  nay, 
it  is  to  be  feared  that,  before  the  stately  dinner  at  Hamley  Hall  came 
to  an  end,  she  even  regretted  the  crowded  chairs  and  tables,  the 
huri'y  of  eating,  the  quick  uuformal  manner  iu  which  everybody 
seemed  to  finish  their  meal  as  fast  as  possible,  and  to  return  to  the 
work  they  had  left.  She  tried  to  think  that  at  six  o'clock  all  the 
business  of  the  day  was  eiided,  and  that  people  might  linger  if  they 
chose.  She  measured  the  distance  from  the  sideboard  to  the  table  with 
her  eye,  and  made  allowances  for  the  men  who  had  to  carrj-  things 
backwards  and  forwards  ;  but,  all  the  same,  this  dinner  appeared  to 
her  a  wearisome  business,  prolonged  because  the  squire  liked  it,  for 
Mrs.  Hamley  seemed  tired  out.  She  ate  even  less  than  Molly,  and 
sent  for  fan  and  smelling-bottle  to  amuse  herself  with,  until  at  length 
the  table-cloth  was  cleared  away,  and  the  dessert  was  put  upon  a 
mahogany  table,  polished  like  a  looking-glass. 

The  squire  had  hitherto  been  too  busy  to  talk,  except  about  the 
immediate  concerns  of  the  table,  and  one  or  two  of  the  greatest 
breaks  to  the  usual  monotony  of  his  days  ;  a  monotony  in  which  he 
delighted,  but  which  sometimes  became  oppressive  to  his  wife.  Now, 
however,  peeling  his  orange,  he  turned  to  Molly — 

"  To-morrow,  you'll  have  to  do  this  for  me,  Miss  Gibson." 

"  Shall  I  ?     I'll  do  it  to-day,  if  you  like,  sir." 
"  No  ;  to-day  I  shall  treat  you  as  a  visitor,  with  all  proper 


A   VISIT  TO  TUE  UAMLEY8.  C.> 

ceremony.     To-monow  I  shall  send  you  errands,  and  call  you  by 
year  Christian  name." 

"  I  shall  liko  that,"  said  Molly. 

"  I  was  wanting  to  call  you  something  less  fonnal  than  Miss 
Gibson,"  Hui  1  Mrs.  Ilamley. 

*'  My  name  is  Molly.  It  is  an  old-fashioned  name,  and  I  was 
christened  Marj*.     But  papa  likes  Molly." 

"  That's  right.     Keep  to  tho  good  old  fashions,  my  dear." 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  think  Mary  is  prettier  than  Molly,  and  quito 
as  old  a  name,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Ilamley. 

*'  I  think  it  was,"  said  Molly,  lowering  her  voice,  and  dropping 
her  eyes,  '*  because  mamma  was  Muiy,  and  I  was  called  ilolly  while 
she  lived." 

"  Ah,  poor  thing,"  said  the  squire,  not  perceiving  his  wife's  signs 
to  change  the  subject,  "  I  remember  how  sorry  every  one  was  when 
she  died  ;  no  one  thought  she  was  delicate,  she  had  such  a  fresh 
colour,  till  all  at  once  sho  popped  off,  as  one  may  say." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  terrible  blow  to  your  father,"  said  Mrs. 
Hamley,  seeing  that  Molly  did  not  know  what  to  answer, 

*'  Ay,  ay.     It  came  so  sudden,  so  soon  after  they  were  married." 

"  I  thought  it  was  nearly  four  years,"  said  Molly. 

"  And  four  years  is  soon — is  a  short  time  to  a  couplo  who  look 
to  spending  their  lifotinio  together.  Eveiy  one  thought  Gibson 
would  have  married  again." 

"  Hush,"  said  Mrs.  Ilamley,  seeing  in  Molly's  eyes  and  change 
of  colour  how  completely  this  was  a  new  idea  to  her.  But  tho  squire 
was  not  so  easily  stopped. 

"  Well — I'd  perhaps  better  not  have  said  it,  but  it's  the  truth  ; 
they  did.  He's  not  likely  to  marr}'  now,  so  one  may  say  it  out. 
Why,  your  father  is  past  forty,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Forty-three.  I  don't  believe  ho  ever  thought  of  marrying 
again,"  said  Molly,  recurring  to  tho  idea,  as  one  does  to  that  of 
danger  which  has  passed  by,  without  one's  being  aware  of  it. 

"  No  !  I  don't  believe  ho  did,  my  dear.  Uo  looks  to  me  just 
liko  a  man  who  would  be  constant  to  the  memory  of  his  wife.  You 
must  not  mind  what  the  squire  says." 

"  Ah !  you'd  better  go  away,  if  you're  going  to  teach  Miss 
3ibson  such  treason  as  that  against  the  master  of  the  bouse." 

Molly  went  into  the  drawing-room  with  Mrs.  Hamley,  but  her 
houghts  did  not  change  with  the  room.    Sho  could  not  help  dwelling 
Vol.  I.  6 


66  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

on  the  danger  -which  she  fancied  she  had  escaped,  and  was  astonished 
at  her  c^ti  stupidity  at  never  having  imagined  such  a  possibility  as 
her  father's  second  marriage.  She  felt  that  she  was  answering  Mrs. 
Hamley's  remarks  in  a  very  unsatisfactory  manner. 

"  There  is  papa,  with  the  squire  !  "  she  suddenly  exclaimed. 
There  they  were  coming  across  the  flower-garden  from  the  stable- 
yard,  her  father  switching  his  boots  with  his  riding  whip,  in  order  to 
make  them  presentable  in  Mrs.  Hamley's  drawing-room.  He  looked 
so  exactly  like  his  usual  self,  his  home-self,  that  the  seeing  him  in 
the  flesh  was  the  most  efficacious  way  of  dispelling  the  phantom  fears 
of  a  second  wedding,  which  were  beginning  to  harass  his  daughter's 
mind  ;  and  the  pleasant  conviction  that  he  could  not  rest  till  he  had 
come  over  to  see  how  she  was  going  on  in  her  new  home,  stole  into 
her  heart,  although  he  spoke  but  Httle  to  her,  and  that  little  was  all 
in  a  joking  tone.  After  he  had  gone  away,  the  squire  undertook  to 
teach  her  cribbage,  and  she  was  happy  enough  now  to  give  him  all 
her  attention.  He  kept  on  prattling  while  they  played ;  sometimes 
in  relation  to  the  cards ;  at  others  telling  her  of  small  occurrences 
which  he  thought  might  interest  her. 

"  So  you  don't  know;  my  boys,  even  by  sight.  I  should  have 
thought  you  would  have  done,  for  they're  fond  enough  of  riding  into 
HoUingford ;  and  I  know  Koger  has  often  enough  been  to  borrow 
books  from  your  father.  Eoger  is  a  scientific  sort  of  a  fellow. 
Osborne  is  clever,  like  his  mother.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  published 
a  book  some  day.  You're  not  counting  right.  Miss  Gibson.  "Why, 
I  could  cheat  you  as  easily  as  possible."  And  so  on,  till  the  butler 
came  in  with  a  solemn  look,  placed  a  large  prayer-book  before  his 
master,  who  huddled  the  cards  away  in  a  huriy,  as  if  caught  in  an 
incongiTious  employment ;  and  then  the  maids  and  men  trooped  in 
to  prayers — the  windows  were  still  open,  and  the  sounds  of  the 
solitary  corncrake,  and  the  owl  hooting  in  the  trees,  mingling  with 
the  words  spoken.     Then  to  bed  ;  and  so  ended  the  day. 

Molly  looked  out  of  her  chamber  window— leaning  on  the  sill, 
and  snuffing  up  the  night  odours  of  the  honeysuckle.  The  soft 
velvet  darkness  hid  everything  that  was  at  any  distance  from  her ; 
although  she  was  as  conscious  of  then-  presence  as  if  she  had  seen 
them. 

**  I  think  I  shall  be  very  happy  here,"  was  in  Molly's  thoughts, 
as  she  turned  away  at  length,  and  began  to  prepare  for  bed.  Before 
long  the  squire's  words,  relating  to  her  father's  second  marriage, 


A  VISIT  TO  TUE  UAMLEY8.  67 

came  across  her,  aud  spoilt  the  sweet  poaco  of  her  final  thoaghts. 
"  Who  coulil  ho  hiivo  ini\rrio(l '?  "  sho  asked  herself.  "  Miss  Eyre  ? 
Miss  Browuin^  '?  Miss  Phceho  '?  Miss  Goodonaugh  \>  "  Ouo  hy  oao, 
each  of  these  was  rejected  for  sufficient  reasons.  Yet  tho  unsatisfied 
question  rankled  in  her  mind,  and  darted  out  of  ambush  to  distuih 
her  dreams. 

Mrs.  Hamley  did  not  como  down  to  breakfast ;  and  Molly  found 
out,  with  a  little  dismay,  thut  tho  squire  and  she  were  to  have  it 
Ute-a-tet,-.  On  this  first  morning  he  put  aside  his  newspapers — one 
an  old  established  Tory  journal,  with  all  tho  local  and  country  news, 
which  was  the  most  interesting  to  him ;  tho  other  tho  Morning 
Chronicle,  which  ho  ciUled  his  doso  of  bitters,  aud  which  called  out 
many  a  strong  expression  aud  tolerably  pungent  oath.  To-day, 
however,  he  was  *'  on  his  manners,"  as  he  afterwards  explained  to 
Molly  ;  and  ho  plunged  about,  trying  to  find  ground  for  a  conversa- 
tion. Ho  could  talk  of  his  wife  and  his  sous,  his  estate,  aud  his 
mode  of  fiu-ming ;  his  tenants,  and  the  mismanagement  of  tho  last 
county  election.  Molly's  interests  wore  her  father,  Miss  Eyre^  her 
garden  aud  pony ;  in  a  fainter  degree  ]\Iis3  Brownings,  the  Cumnor 
Charity  School,  and  the  new  gown  that  was  to  como  from  Miss 
Roso's  ;  into  the  midst  of  which  the  one  gi'cat  question,  "  Who  was 
it  that  people  thought  it  was  possible  papa  might  marry  ?  "  kept 
popping  up  into  her  mouth,  like  a  troublesome  Jack-in-the-box. 
For  the  present,  however,  tho  lid  was  snapped  down  upon  the  iu- 
trader  as  often  as  he  showed  his  head  bctwceu  her  toeth.  They 
were  ver}-  polite  to  each  other  during  tho  meal ;  and  it  was  not  a 
little  tii'L'Some  to  both.  When  it  was  ended  the  squiro  withdrew  into 
his  study  to  read  the  untasted  newspapers.  It  was  tho  custom  to 
call  the  room  in  which  Squire  Hamley  kept  his  coats,  boots,  and 
gaiters,  his  difi'erent  sticks  and  fiivourite  spud,  his  gun  and  fishing- 
rods,  "  the  study."  There  was  a  bureau  in>it,-  aud  al  tlu^e-comered 
arm-chair,  but  no  hooks  were  visible.  Tho  greater  part  of  them 
were  kept  in  a  large,  musty-smelliug  room,  in  an  unfrequented  part 
of  the  house  ;  so  unfrequented  that  tho  housemaid  often  neglected 
to  open  the  window- shutters,  which  looked  into  a  part  of  the  grounds 
over-groAra  with  tho  luxuriant  growth  of  shrubs.  Indeed,  it  was  a 
tradition  in  the  soiTauts'  hall  that,  in  the  late  squire's  time — he  who 
had  been  plucked  at  college — the  library  windows  had  been  boarded 
up  to  avoid  paying  the  window-tax.  And  when  the  "  young  gentle- 
men "  were  at  home  the  housemaid,  without  a   single  direction  to 

0 — 2 


68  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

that  effect,  was  regular  in  her  charge  of  this  room ;  ojjened  the 
windows  and  lighted  fires  daily,  and  dusted  the  handsomely-bound 
volumes,  which  were  really  a  very  fair  collection  of  the  standard 
literature  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  All  the  books  that  had 
been  purchased  since  that  time  were  held  in  small  book-cases  be- 
tween each  two  of  the  drawing-room  windows,  and  in  Mrs.  Hamley's 
own  sitting-room  upstairs.  Those  in  the  drawing-room  were  quite 
enough  to  employ  Molly ;  indeed  she  was  so  deep  in  one  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  novels  that  she  jumped  as  if  she  had  been  shot,  when 
an  hour  or  so  after  breakfast  the  squire  came  to  the  gravel-path  outside 
one  of  the  windows,  and  called  to  ask  her  if  she  would  like  to  come 
out  of  doors  and  go  about  the  garden  and  home-fields  with  him. 

"  It  must  be  a  little  dull  for  you,  my  girl,  all  by  yourself,  with 
nothing  but  books  to  look  at,  in  the  mornings  here ;  but  you  see, 
madam  has  a  fancy  for  being  quiet  in  the  mornings  :  she  told  your 
father  about  it,  and  so  did  I,  but  I  felt  soriy  for  you  all  the  same, 
when  I  saw  you  sitting  on  the  ground  all  alone  in  the  drawing-room." 
Molly  had  been  in  the  very  middle  of  the  Bride  of  Lammennoor, 
and  would  gladly  have  stayed  in-doors  to  finish  it,  but  she  felt  the 
squire's  kindness  all  the  same.  They  went  in  and  out  of  old- 
fashioned  green-houses,  over  trim  lawns,  the  squire  unlocked  the 
great  walled  kitchen-garden,  and  went  about  giving  du-ections  to 
gardeners ;  and  all  the  time  Molly  followed  him  like  a  little  dog,  her 
mind  quite  full  of  "  Ravenswood"  and  "  Lucy  Ashton."  Presently, 
every  place  near  the  house  had  been  inspected  and  regulated,  and 
the  squire  was  more  at  liberty  to  give  his  attention  to  his  companion, 
as  they  passed  through  the  little  wood  that  separated  the  gardens 
from  the  adjoining  fields.  Molly,  too,  plucked  away  her  thoughts 
from  the  seventeenth  century  ;  and,  somehow  or  other,  that  question, 
which  had  so  haunted  her  before,  came  out  of  her  lips  before  she  was 
aware — a  literal  impromptu, — 

"  Who  did  people  think  papa  would  marry  ?  That  time — long 
ago — soon  after  mamma  died  ?  " 

She  dropped  her  voice  very  soft  and  low,  as  she  spoke  the  last 
words.  The  squire  turned  round  upon  her,  and  looked  at  her  face, 
he  knew  not  why.  It  was  very  grave,  a  little  pale,  but  her  steady 
eyes  almost  commanded  some  kind  of  answer. 

"  Whew,"  said  he,  whistling  to  gain  time  ;  not  that  he  had  any- 
thing definite  to  say,  for  no  one  had  ever  had  any  reason  to  join 
Mr.  Gibson's  name  with  any  known  lady  :  it  was  only  a  loose  con- 


A   VISIT  TO  THE   IIAMLEY8.  69 

jocturo  that  liatl  boon  Imzardod  on  tlio  probabilities — a  yoang 
wiilower,  with  a  littlo  girl. 

"  I  never  heard  of  nuy  one — his  name  was  never  coupled  with 
any  lady's — 'twas  only  iu  the  nataro  of  things  that  he  should  marry 
again  ;  ho  may  do  it  yet,  for  aught  I  know,  and  I  don't  think  it 
would  bo  a  bad  move  cither.  I  told  him  so,  the  last  time  but  one 
he  was  here." 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ?  "  asked  breathless  Molly. 

"  Oh  :  ho  only  smiled  and  said  nothing.  You  shouldn't  take  up 
words  so  seriously,  my  dear.  Tory  likely  ho  may  never  think  of 
marr}-ing  again,  and  if  he  did,  it  would  be  a  very  good  thing  both 
for  him  and  for  you  !  " 

Molly  muttered  something,  as  if  to  herself,  but  the  squire  might 
have  heard  it  if  ho  had  chosen.  As  it  was,  ho  wisely  turned  the 
current  of  the  conversation. 

"  Look  at  that !  "  ho  said,  as  they  suddenly  came  upon  the  mere, 
or  large  pond.  There  was  a  small  island  in  the  middle  of  the  glassy 
water,  on  which  grow  tall  trees,  dark  Scotch  firs  in  the  centre, 
silvery  shimmering  willows  close  to  the  water's  edge.  "  We  must  get 
)"ou  punted  over  there,  some  of  these  days.  I'm  not  fond  of  using  tho 
boat  at  this  time  of  the  year,  because  the  young  birds  are  still  in  tho 
nests  among  the  reeds  and  water-plants ;  but  we'll  go.  There  aro 
coots  and  gi'ebes." 

"  Oh,  look,  there's  a  swan  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  there  are  two  pair  of  them  here.  And  in  those  trees 
there's  both  a  rookery  and  a  heronry ;  the  herons  ought  to  be  hero 
by  now,  for  they're  off  to  the  sea  in  August,  but  I  have  not  seen  one 
yet.  Stay  !  is  not  that  one — that  fellow  on  a  stone,  with  his  long 
neck  bent  down,  looking  into  tho  water  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  I  think  so.  I  have  never  seen  a  heron,  only  pictures  of 
them." 

"  They  and  tho  rooks  aro  always  at  war,  which  does  not  do  for 
such  near  neighbours.  If  both  herons  leave  the  nest  they  are  build- 
ing, the  rooks  come  and  tear  it  to  pieces ;  and  onco  Roger  showed 
me  a  long  straggling  fellow  of  a  heron,  with  a  flight  of  rooks  after 
him,  with  no  friendly  purpose  in  their  minds.  111  be  bound.  Iloger 
knows  a  deal  of  natural  history,  and  finds  out  queer  things  some- 
times. He'd  have  been  off  a  dozen  times  during  this  walk  of  ours, 
if  he'd  been  here  :  his  eyes  aro  always  wandering  about,  and  see 
twenty  things  whero  I  only  see  one.     Why !  I've  known  him  bolt 


70  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTEES. 

into  a  copse  because  he  saw  sometliing  fifteen  yards  off — some  plant, 
maybe,  which  he'd  tell  me  was  very  rare,  though  I  should  say  I'd 
seen  its  marrow  at  every  turn  in  the  woods ;  and,  if  we  came  upon 
such  a  thing  as  this,"  touching  a  delicate  film  of  a  cobweb  upon  a 
leaf  with  his  stick,  as  he  spoke,  "  why,  he  could  tell  you  what  insect 
or  spider  made  it,  and  if  it  lived  in  rotten  fir- wood,  or  in  a  cranny  of 
good  sound  timber,  or  deep  down  in  the  ground,  or  up  in  the  sky,  or 
anywhere.  It's  a  pity  they  don't  take  honours  in  Natural  History 
at  Cambridge.     Eoger  would  be  safe  enough  if  they  did." 

"  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  is  very  clever,  is  he  not  ?  "  Molly  asked, 
timidly. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Osborne's  a  bit  of  a  genius.  His  mother  looks  for 
great  things  from  Osbome.  I'm  rather  proud  of  him  myself.  He'll 
get  a  Trinity  fellowship,  if  they  play  him  fair.  As  I  was  saying  at 
the  magistrates'  meeting  yesterday,  '  I've  got  a  son  who  will  make  a 
noise  at  Cambridge,  or  I'm  veiy  much  mistaken.'  Now,  isn't  it  a 
queer  quip  of  Nature,"  continued  the  squire,  turning  his  honest  face 
towards  Molly,  as  if  he  was  going  to  impart  a  new  idea  to  her, 
"that  I,  a  Hamley  of  Hamley,  straight  in  descent  from  nobody 
knows  where — the  Heptarchy,  they  say — What's  the  date  of  the 
Heptarchy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Molly,  startled  at  being  thus  appealed  to. 

*'  Well !  it  was  some  time  before  King  Alfred,  because  he  was 
the  King  of  all  Eugland,  you  know  ;  but,  as  I  was  saying,  here  am 
I,  of  as  good  and  as  old  a  descent  as  any  man  in  England,  and  I 
doubt  if  a  stranger,  to  look  at  me,  would  take  me  for  a  gentleman, 
with  my  red  face,  great  hands  and  feet,  and  thick  figure,  fourteen 
stone,  and  never  less  than  twelve  even  when  I  was  a  young  man  ; 
and  there's  Osborne,  who  takes  after  his  mother,  who  couldn't  tell 
her  great-grandfather  from  Adam,  bless  her;  and  Osborne  has  a 
girl's  delicate  face,  and  a  slight  make,  and  hands  and  feet  as  small 
as  a  lady's.  He  takes  after  madam's  side,  who,  as  I  said,  can't  tell 
who  was  their  grandfather.  Now,  Koger  is  like  me,  a  Hamley  of 
Hamley,  and  no  one  who  sees  him  in  the  street  will  ever  think  that 
red-brown,  big-boned,  clumsy  chap  is  of  gentle  blood.  Yet  all  those 
Cumnor  people,  you  make  such  ado  of  in  Holliugford,  are  mere 
muck  of  yesterday.  I  was  talking  to  madam  the  other  day  about 
Osborne's  marrying  a  daughter  of  Lord  Hollingford's — that's  to  say, 
if  he  had  a  daughter — he's  only  got  boys,  as  it  happens ;  but  I'm 
not  sure  if  I  should  consent  to  it.     I  really  am  not  sure ;  for  you 


A   VISIT  TO  THE  UAMLEYS.  71 

SCO  Osbonio  will  Imvo  liml  ft  first-rato  cilucfttion,  ami  liis  family  <latc9 
from  the  Uoptarchy,  while  I  shouUl  bo  glad  to  know  where  tho 
Ciimuor  folk  wero  in  tho  time  of  QuccuAuuo?"  IIo  walked  on, 
pondering  tho  question  of  whether  ho  could  have  given  his  consent 
to  this  impossible  marriago ;  and  after  some  time,  and  when  Mi)lly 
had  quite  forgotten  tho  subject  to  which  ho  alluded,  ho  broke  out 
with — "  No !  I'm  sure  I  should  have  looked  higher.  So,  perhaps, 
it's  as  well  my  Lord  llolliugford  has  only  boj'S." 

After  a  while,  ho  thanked  Molly  for  her  companionship,  with 
old-fashioned  courtesy  ;  and  told  her  that  ho  thought,  by  this  time, 
madam  would  bo  up  and  dressed,  and  glad  to  have  her  young  visitor 
with  her.  Ho  pointed  out  tho  deep  puq)lc  house,  with  its  stone 
facings,  as  it  was  seen  at  some  distance  between  the  trees,  and 
watched  her  protectingly  on  her  way  along  tho  field-paths. 

"That's  a  nico  girl  of  Gibson's,"  quoth  ho  to  himself.  "Bat 
what  a  tight  hold  the  wench  got  of  the  notion  of  his  marrj-ing  again  I 
One  had  need  bo  on  one's  guard  as  to  what  one  says  before  her. 
To  tliink  of  her  never  having  thought  of  the  chance  of  a  stepmother. 
To  bo  sure,  a  stepmother  to  a  girl  is  a  different  thing  to  a  second 
wife  to  a  man  1  " 


(     72     ) 


CHAPTER   VII. 

FORESHADOWS   OF  LOVE  PERILS. 

If  Squire  Hamley  had  been  unable  to  tell  Molly  who  had  ever  been 
thought  of  as  her  father's  second  wife,  fate  was  all  this  time  pre- 
paring an  answer  of  a  pretty  positive  kind  to  her  wondering  curiosity. 
But  fate  is  a  cunning  hussy,  and  builds  up  her  plans  as  impercep- 
tibly as  a  bird  builds  her  nest ;  and  with  much  the  same  kind  of 
unconsidered  trifles.  The  first  "trifle"  of  an  event  was  the  dis- 
turbance which  Jenny  (Mr.  Gibson's  cook)  chose  to  make  at  Bethia's 
being  dismissed.  Bethia  was  a  distant  relation  and  protegee  of 
Jenny's,  and  she  chose  to  say  it  was  Mr.  Coxe  the  tempter  who 
ought  to  have  "  been  sent  packing,"  not  Bethia  the  tempted,  the 
victim.  In  this  view  there  was  quite  enough  plausibility  to  make 
Mr.  Gibson  feel  that  he  had  been  rather  unjust.  He  had,  however, 
taken  care  to  provide  Bethia  with  another  situation,  to  the  full  as 
good  as  that  which  she  held  in  his  family.  Jenny,  nevertheless, 
chose  to  give  warning ;  and  though  Mr.  Gibson  knew  full  well  from 
former  experience  that  her  warnings  wei*e  words,  not  deeds,  he  hated 
the  discomfort,  the  uncertainty,  —  the  entire  disagreeableness  of 
meeting  a  woman  at  any  time  in  his  house,  who  wore  a  grievance 
and  an  injury  upon  her  face  as  legibly  as  Jenny  took  care  to  do. 

Down  into  the  middle  of  this  small  domestic  trouble  came 
another,  and  one  of  greater  consequence.  Miss  Eyre  had  gone  with 
her  old  mother,  and  her  orphan  nephews  and  nieces,  to  the  sea-side, 
during  Molly's  absence,  which  was  only  intended  at  first  to  last  for  a 
fortnight.  After  about  ten  days  of  this  time  had  elapsed,  Mr.  Gibson 
received  a  beautifully  written,  beautifully  worded,  admirably  folded, 
and  most  neatly  sealed  letter  from  Miss  Eyre.  Her  eldest  nephew 
had  fallen  ill  of  scarlet  fever,  and  there  was  every  probability  that 
the  younger  children  would  be  attacked  by  the  same  complaint.     It 


F0UESUAD0W8  OF   LOVE   PEUILS.  73 

was  ilislrossinp  enough  for  poor  Miss  Eyre — this  ftcMitioual  expense, 
this  rtiixioty — the  long  ilotoutiou  from  homo  which  the  illness  iuvolveJ. 
liut  she  Biiiil  not  a  word  of  any  inconvenience  to  herself;  she  only 
apologized  with  huniblo  sincerity  for  her  iniihility  to  return  at  the 
appointed  time  to  her  charge  in  Mr.  Gibson's  family  ;  meekly  adding, 
that  perhaps  it  was  as  well,  for  Molly  had  never  had  tho  scarlet 
fcvor,  and  even  if  IMiss  Kyro  had  been  able  to  leave  tho  oqihau 
children  to  retuni  to  her  employments,  it  might  not  have  been  a  safe 
or  a  pmdent  step. 

"  To  bo  sure  not,"  said  Jlr.  Gibson,  tearing  the  letter  in  two, 
and  throwing  it  into  tho  hearth,  where  ho  soon  saw  it  bunit  to  ashes. 
''  I  wish  I'd  a  five-pound  house  and  not  a  woman  within  ten  miles  of 
me.  I  might  have  some  peace  then."  Apparently,  ho  forgot  Mr. 
Coxo's  powers  of  making  mischief;  but  indeed  he  might  have  traced 
that  evil  back  to  tho  unconscious  Molly.  The  martyr-cook's  entrance 
to  take  away  tho  breakfast  things,  which  she  announced  by  a  heavy 
sigh,  roused  Mr.  Gibson  from  thought  to  action. 

'*  Molly  must  stay  a  little  longer  at  Hamley,"  he  resolved. 
"  They've  often  asked  for  her,  and  now  they'll  have  enough  of  her, 
I  think.  But  I  can't  have  her  back  here  just  yet ;  and  so  the  best  I 
can  do  for  her  is  to  leave  her  where  she  is.  Mrs.  Hamley  seems 
very  fond  of  her,  and  the  child  is  looking  happy,  and  stronger  in 
health,  I'll  ride  round  by  Hamley  to-day  at  any  rate,  and  see  how 
I  the  land  lies." 

He  found  Mrs.  Hamley  lying  on  a  sofa  placed  under  the  shadow  of 
the  gi-cat  cedar-tree  on  the  lawn.  Molly  was  flitting  about  her,  gar- 
idening  away  under  her  directions  ;  tying  up  the  long  sea-green 
stalks  of  bright  budded  carnations,  snipping  otf  dead  roses. 

"Oh!  here's  papa!"  she  cried  out,  joyfully,  as  he  rode  up  to 
the  white  paling  which  separated  the  trim  [h\vra  and  trimmer  flower- 
garden  from  the  rough  park-like  ground  in  front  of  the  house. 

"  Come  in — come  here — through  tho  drawing-room  window," 
said  Mrs.  Hamley,  raising  herself  on  her  elbow.  "  We've  got  a 
rose-tree  to  show  you  that  Molly  has  budded  all  by  herself.  "We  are 
both  so  proud  of  it." 

So  Mr.  Gibson  rode  round  to  the  stables,  left  his  horse  there, 
and  made  his  way  through  the  house  to  the  open-air  summer-parlour 
under  tho  cedar-tree,  wl^ere  there  were  chaii*s,  table,  books,  and 
tangled  work.  Somehow,  ho  rather  disliked  asking  for  Molly  to 
prolong  her  visit ;  so  he  determined  to  swallow  his  bitter  first,  and 


74  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

then  take  the  pleasure  of  the  delicious  day,  the  sweet  repose,  the 
murmurous,  scented  air.  Molly  stood  by  him,  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder.     He  sate  opposite  to  Mrs.  Hamley. 

"  I've  come  here  to-day  to  ask  for  a  favour,"  he  began. 

*'  Granted  before  you  name  it.     Am  not  I  a  bold  woman  ?  " 

He  smiled  and  bowed,  but  went  straight  on  with  his  speech. 

"  Miss  Eyre,  who  has  been  Molly's  governess,  I  suppose  I  must 
call  her — for  many  years,  writes  to-day  to  say  that  one  of  the  little 
nephews  she  took  with  her  to  Newport  while  Molly  was  staying  here, 
has  caught  the  scarlet  fever." 

"  I  guess  your  request.  I  make  it  before  you  do.  I  beg  for 
dear  little  Molly  to  stay  on  here.  Of  com-se  Miss  Eyre  can't  come 
back  to  you  ;  and  of  course  Molly  must  stay  here ! " 

"  Thank  you  ;  thank  you  very  much.     That  was  my  request." 

Molly's  hand  stole  down  to  his,  and  nestled  in  that  firm  compact 
grasp. 

•'  Papa  ! — Mrs.  Hamley ! — I  know  you'll  both  understand  me — 
but  mayn't  I  go  home  ?  I  am  very  happy  here  ;  but — oh  papa  !  I 
think  I  should  like  to  be  at  home  with  you  best." 

An  uncomfortable  suspicion  flashed  across  his  mind.  Ho  pulled 
her  round,  and  looked  straight  and  piercingly  into  her  innocent  face. 
Her  colour  came  at  his  unwonted  scrutiny,  but  her  sweet  eyes  were 
filled  with  wonder,  rather  than  with  any  feeling  which  he  dreaded  to 
find.  For  'an  instant  he  had  doubted  whether  young  red-headed 
Mr.  Cose's  love  might  not  have  called  out  a  response  in  his 
daughter's  breast ;  but  he  was  quite  clear  now. 

"  Molly,  you're  rude  to  begin  with.  I  don't  know  how  you're  to 
make  your  peace  with  Mrs.  Hamley,  I'm  sure.  And  in  the  next 
place,  do  you  think  you're  wiser  than  I  am ;  or  that  I  don't  want 
you  at  home,  if  all  other  things  were  conformable  ?  Stay  where  you 
are,  and  be  thankful." 

Molly  knew  him  well  enough  to  be  certain  that  the  prolongation 
of  her  visit  at  Hamley  was  quite  a  decided  affixii*  in  his  mind ;  and 
then  she  was  smitten  with  a  sense  of  ingratitude.  She  left  her 
father,  and  went  to  Mrs.  Hamley,  and  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her ; 
but  she  did  not  speak.  Mrs.  Hamley  took  hold  of  her  hand,  and 
made  room  on  the  sofa  for  her. 

"  I  was  going  to  have  asked  for  a  longer  visit  the  nest  time  you 
came,  Mr.  Gibson.  We  are  such  happy  friends,  are  not  we,  Molly  ? 
and  now,  that  this  good  little  nephew  of  Miss  Ej^e's " 


rOIlEBHADOWS  OF  LOVE  PEEILS.  75 

"  I  ^isb  he  was  whipped,"  said  llr,  Gibson. 

"  — hap  ^von  us  8uch  u  capitnl  reason,  I  shall  keep  Molly  for  a 
real  loug  visitatiou.  You  must  come  over  aud  see  us  vciy  often. 
There's  a  room  hero  for  you  always,  you  know ;  and  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  uot  start  on  your  rounds  from  Ilamlcy  cvcrj-  moniing, 
just  as  well  as  from  Hollingford." 

"  Thank  you.  If  you  hadn't  been  so  kind  to  my  little  girl,  I 
might  bo  tempted  to  say  something  mdo  in  answer  to  your  last 
speech." 

"  Pray  say  it.  You  won't  bo  easy  till  you  have  given  it  out, 
I  know." 

"  Mrs.  Hamley  has  found  out  from  whom  I  get  my  nideness," 
said  Molly,  triumphantly.     "  It's  an  hereditary  qnaUty." 

'•■  I  was  going  to  say  that  proposal  of  yours  that  I  should  sleep  at 

Hamley  was  just  like  a  woman's  idea — all  kindness,  and  no  common 

sense.     How   in  the  world  would  my  patients  find  me  out,  seven 

•  mUes  from  my  accustomed  place  ?     They'd  be  sure  to  send  for  some 

'  other  doctor,  and  I  should  be  ruined  in  a  month." 

**  Could  not  they  send  on  here  ?     A  messenger  costs  verj*  little." 

"  Fancy  old  Goody  Hcnbury  straggling  up  to  my  surgery, 
groaning  at  everj'  step,  and  then  being  told  to  just  step  on  seven 
miles  fartlicr  !  Or  take  the  other  end  of  society  : — I  don't  think  my 
Lady  Cumnor's  smart  groom  would  thank  me  for  having  to  ride  on 
to  Hamley  evciy  time  his  mistress  wants  me."' 

"  Well,  well,  I  submit.  I  am  a  woman.  Molly,  thon  art  a 
woman  !  Go  and  order  some  strawben-ies  aud  cream  for  this  father 
of  yours.  Such  humble  offices  fall  within  the  province  of  women. 
Btrawberries  and  cream  arc  all  kindness  and  no  common  sense,  for 
they'll  give  him  a  horrid  fit  of  indigestion." 

"  Please  speak  for  yourself,  Mrs.  Hamley,"  said  Mollv.  men-ily. 
"  I  ate — oh,  such  a  great  basketful  yesterday,  and  the  squire  went 
himself  to  the  dairy  and  brought  out  a  great  bowl  of  cream,  when  he 
found  me  at  my  busy  work.  And  I'm  as  well  as  ever  I  was,  to-day, 
and  never  had  n  touch  of  indigestion  near  me." 

"  She's  a  good  girl,"  said  her  father,  when  she  had  danced  out 
of  hearing.  The  words  were  not  quite  an  inquiry,  ho  was  so  certain 
of  his  answer.  There  was  a  mixture  of  teudcniess  and  trast  in  his 
eyes,  as  he  awaited  the  reply,  which  came  in  a  moment. 

"  She's  a  darling.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  fond  the  squire  and  I 
are  of  her ;  both  of  us.     I  am  so  delighted  to  think  she  is  not  to  go 


76  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTEllS. 

away  for  a  long  time.  The  first  thing  I  thought  of  this  nioming 
when  I  wakened  up,  was  that  she  would  soon  have  to  return  to  you, 
unless  I  could  jjersuade  you  into  leaving  her  with  me  a  little  longer. 
And  now  she  must  stay — oh,  two  months  at  least." 

It  was  quite  true  that  the  squire  had  become  vei-y  fond  of  Molly. 
The  chance  of  having  a  young  girl  dancing  and  singing  inarticulate 
ditties  about  the  house  and  garden,  was  indescribable  in  its  novelty 
to  him.  And  then  Molly  was  so  willing  and  so  wise  ;  ready  both  to 
talk  and  to  listen  at  the  right  times.  Mrs.  Hamley  was  quite  right 
in  speaking  of  her  husband's  fondness  for  Molly.  But  either  she 
herself  chose  a  wrong  time  for  telling  him  of  the  prolongation  of  the 
girl's  visit,  or  one  of  the  fits  of  temper  to  which  he  was  liable,  but 
which  he  generally  strove  to  check  in  the  presence  of  his  wife,  was 
upon  him ;  at  any  rate,  he  received  the  news  in  anything  but  a 
gracious  frame  of  mind. 

"  Stay  longer  !     Did  Gibson  ask  for  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  I  don't  see  what  else  is  to  become  of  her ;  Miss  Eyre 
away  and  all.  It's  a  very  awkward  position  for  a  motherless  girl 
like  her  to  be  at  the  head  of  a  household  with  two  young  men  in  it." 

"  That's  Gibson's  look-out ;  he  should  have  thought  of  it  before 
taking  pupils,  or  apprentices,  or  whatever  he  calls  them." 

"  My  dear  squire  !  why,  I  thought  you'd  be  as  glad  as  I  was — as 
I  am  to  keep  Molly.  I  asked  her  to  stay  for  an  indefinite  time ;  two 
months  at  least." 

"  And  to  be  in  the  house  with  Osborne  !  Roger,  too,  will  be  at 
home." 

By  the  cloud  in  the  squire's  eyes,  Mrs.  Hamley  read  his  mind. 

"  Oh,  she's  not  at  all  the  sort  of  girl  young  men  of  their  age 
would  take  to.  We  like  her  because  we  see  what  she  really  is  ;  but 
lads  of  one  and  two  and  twenty  want  all  the  accessories  of  a  young 
woman." 

"  Want  what  ?  "  growled  the  squire. 

"  Such  things  as  becoming  dress,  style  of  manner.  They  would 
not  at  their  age  even  see  that  she  is  pretty ;  their  ideas  of  beauty 
would  include  colour." 

"  I  suppose  all  that's  very  clever  ;  but  I  don't  understand  it. 
All  I  know  is,  that  it's  a  very  dangerous  thing  to  shut  two  young 
men  of  one  and  three  and  twenty  up  in  a  country-house  like  this 
with  a  girl  of  seventeen — choose  what  her  gowns  may  be  like,  or  her 
hair,  or  her  eyes.   And  I  told  you  particularly  I  didn't  want  Osborne, 


FORESUAUOWH  OF  LOVE  PERILS.  77 

or  cither  of  iliom,  indeed,  to  bo  falling  in  lovo  with  her.  I'm  very 
much  anuovcd." 

Mrs.  Ilttinlcy's  fiico  fell ;  she  became  a  little  pale. 

"  Shall  wo  make  arrauj^eincnts  for  thuir  stopping  away  while  she 
id  hero  ;  staying  up  at  Caiubritlgo,  or  reading  with  somo  one  ?  going 
abroad  for  a  month  or  two  ?  " 

"  No  ;  you've  been  reckoning  this  ever  so  long  on  their  coming 
home.  I've  seen  the  marks  of  the  weeks  on  your  almanack.  I'd 
sooner  speak  to  Gibson,  and  tell  him  ho  must  tako  his  daughter 
away,  for  it's  not  convenient  to  us " 

"  ^ly  dear  Roger  !  I  beg  you  will  do  no  such  thing.  It  will  bo 
BO  unkind  ;  it  will  give  the  lie  to  all  I  said  yesterday.  Don't,  please, 
do  that.     For  my  sake,  don't  speak  to  Mr.  Gibson !  " 

"  Well,  well,  don't  put  yourself  in  a  flutter,"  for  he  was  afraid 
of  her  becoming  hysterical;  "  I'll  speak  to  Osborne  when  ho  comes 
home,  and  tell  him  how  much  I  should  dislike  anything  of  the  kind." 

"  And  Roger  is  always  far  too  full  of  his  natural  history  and 
comparative  anatomy,  and  messes  of  that  sort,  to  be  thinking  of  fall- 
ing in  love  with  Venus  herself.  He  has  not  the  sentiment  and 
imagination  of  Osborne." 

•'Ah,  you  don't  know;  you  never  can  be  sure  about  a  young 
man !  But  with  Roger  it  wouldn't  so  much  signify.  Ho  would 
know  he  couldn't  many  for  years  to  come." 

All  that  afternoon  the  squire  tried  to  steer  clear  of  Jlolly,  to 
whom  he  felt  himself  to  have  been  an  inhospitable  traitor.  But  she 
was  so  perfectly  unconscious  of  his  shyness  of  her,  and  so  merrj'  and 
sweet  in  her  behaviour  as  a  welcome  guest,  never  distrusting  him  for 
a  moment,  however  gruff  he  might  be,  that  by  the  next  morning  she 
bad  completely  won  him  round,  and  they  were  quite  on  the  old  terms 
again.  At  breakfast  this  very  morning,  a  letter  was  passed  from  the 
squire  to  his  ^^■ife,  and  back  again,  without  a  word  as  to  its  contents; 
but— 

"  Fortunate !  " 

"Yes  !  very  !  " 

Little  did  Molly  apply  these  expressions  to  the  piece  of  news 
Mrs.  Hamley  told  her  in  the  course  of  the  day  ;  namely,  that  her 
son  OsboiTio  had  received  an  invitation  to  stay  with  a  friend  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Cambridge,  and  perhaps  to  make  a  tour  on  the 
Continent  with  him  subsequently  ;  and  that,  consequently,  he  would 
not  accompany  his  brother  when  Roger  came  home. 


73  WIVES  AND  .DAUGHTERS. 

Molly  was  very  sympathetic. 

"  Oil,  dear !  I  am  so  sorry  !  " 

Mrs.  Hamley  was  thankful  her  husband  was  not  present,  Molly 
spoke  the  words  so  heartily. 

"  You  have  been  thinking  so  long  of  his  coming  home.  I  am 
afraid  it  is  a  great  disappointment." 

Mrs.  Hamley  smiled — reheved. 

"Yes!  it  is  a  disappointment  certainly,  but  we  must  think  of 
Osborne's  pleasure.  And  with  his  poetical  mind,  he  will  wiite  us 
such  delightful  travelling  letters.  Poor  fellow !  he  must  be  going 
into  the  examination  to-day !  Both  his  father  and  I  feel  sure, 
though,  that  he  will  be  a  high  wrangler.  Only — I  should  like  to 
have  seen  him,  my  own  dear  boy.     But  it  is  best  as  it  is." 

Molly  was  a  little  puzzled  by  this  speech,  but  soon  put  it  out  of 
her  head.  It  was  a  disappointment  to  her,  too,  that  she  should  not 
see  this  beautiful,  brilliant  young  man,  his  mother's  hero.  From 
time  to  time  her  maiden  fancy  had  dwelt  upon  what  he  would  be 
like  ;  how  the  lovely  boy  of  the  picture  in  Mrs.  Hamley's  di'essing- 
room  would  have  changed  in  the  ten  years  that  had  elapsed  since 
the  likeness  was  taken ;  if  he  would  read  poetry  aloud  ;  if  he  would 
ever  read  his  own  poetiy.  However,  in  the  never-ending  feminine 
business  of  the  day,  she  soon  forgot  her  own  disappointment ;  it 
only  came  back  to  her  on  first  wakening  the  next  morning,  as  a  vague 
something  that  was  not  quite  so  pleasant  as  she  had  anticipated, 
and  then  was  banished  as  a  subject  of  regret.  Her  days  at  Hamley 
were  well  filled  up  with  the  small  duties  that  would  have  belonged  to 
a  daughter  of  the  house  had  there  been  one.  She  made  bi'eakfast 
for  the  lonely  squire,  and  would  willingly  have  carried  up  madame's, 
but  that  daily  piece  of  work  belonged  to  the  squire,  and  was  jealously 
guarded  by  him.  She  read  the  smaller  print  of  the  newspapers 
aloud  to  him,  city  articles,  money  and  corn  markets  included.  She 
strolled  about  the  gardens  with  him,  gathering  fresh  flowers,  mean- 
while, to  deck  the  drawing-room  against  Mrs.  Hamley  should  come 
down.  She  was  her  companion  when  she  took  her  drives  in  the 
close  carriage  ;  they  read  poetry  and  mild  literature  together  in 
Mrs.  Hamley's  sitting-room  upstairs.  She  was  quite  clever  at  crib- 
bage  now,  and  could  beat  the  squire  if  she  took  pains.  Besides 
these  things,  there  were  her  own  independent  ways  of  employing 
herself.  She  used  to  try  to  practise  a  daily  hour  on  the  old  grand 
piano  in  the  solitary  drawing-room,  because  sho  had  promised  Miss 


FORESIIADOWS  OF  LOVE  TEEILS.  79 

EjTO  sho  would  ilo  80.  And  she  had  found  her  way  into  the  library, 
and  used  to  undo  the  heavy  bars  of  the  shutters  if  tbo  housemaid 
had  fdij^'otteu  this  duty,  and  mount  tho  ladder,  sitting  ou  the  steps, 
for  an  hour  at  a  time,  deep  iu  some  book  of  tho  old  English  classics. 
Tho  summer  days  were  very  short  to  this  happy  girl  of  seveutcen. 


(     80    ) 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

DRIFTING  ;iNTO  DANGER. 

On  Thursday,  the  quiet  country  household  was  stirred  through  all  its 
fibres  with  the  thought  of  Roger's  coming  home.  Mrs.  Hamley  had 
not  seemed  quite  so  well,  or  quite  in  such  good  spirits  for  two  or 
three  days  before  ;  and  the  squire  himself  had  appeared  to  be  put 
out  without  any  visible  cause.  They  had  not  chosen  to  tell  Molly 
that  Osborne's  name  had  only  appeared  veiy  low  down  in  the  mathe- ' 
matical  tripos.  So  all  that  their  visitor  knew  was  that  something 
was  out  of  tune,  and  she  hoped  that  Roger's  coming  home  would 
set  it  to  rights,  for  it  was  beyond  the  power  of  her  small  cares  and 
wiles. 

On  Thursday,  the  housemaid  apologized  to  her  for  some  slight 
negligence  in  her  bedroom,  by  saying  she  had  been  busy  scouring 
Mr.  Roger's  rooms.  "  Not  but  what  they  were  as  clean  as  could  be 
beforehand ;  but  mistress  would  always  have  the  young  gentlemen's 
rooms  cleaned  afresh  before  they  came  home.  If  it  had  been 
Mr.  Osborne,  the  whole  house  would  have  had  to  be  done  ;  but  to 
be  sure  he  was  the  eldest  son,  so  it  was  but  likely."  Molly  was 
amused  at  this  testimony  to  the  rights  of  heirship ;  but  somehow  she 
herself  had  fallen  into  the  family  manner  of  thinking  that  nothing  was 
too  great  or  too  good  for  *'  the  eldest  son."  In  his  father's  eyes, 
Osborne  was  the  representative  of  the  ancient  house  of  Hamley  of 
Hamley,  the  future  owner  of  the  land  which  had  been  theirs  for  a 
thousand  j^ears.  His  mother  clung  to  him  because  they  two  were 
cast  in  the  same  mould,  both  physically  and  mentally — because  he 
bore  her  maiden  name.  She  had  indoctrinated  Molly  with  her  faith, 
and,  in  spite  of  her  amusement  at  the  housemaid's  speech,  the  girl 
visitor  would  have  been  as  anxious  as  any  one  to  show  her  feudal 
loyalty  to  the  heir,  if  indeed  it  had  been  he  that  was  coming.     After 


DUimXO    INTO    D.VXGKR.  81 

luncheon,  Mrs.  Ilamk'y  went  to  lost,  in  preparation  for  Rogcr'H 
return  ;  ftnil  Molly  also  retired  to  her  own  room,  feeling  that  it 
would  Lo  better  for  hor  to  remain  there  until  dinncr-tinio,  and  so  to 
K-avo  tlu>  fiithor  and  nu)tlicr  to  rcccivo  their  boy  in  privacy.  She 
took  n  book  of  MS.  poems  with  her ;  they  wore  all  of  Osbomo 
Ilamloy's  composition  ;  and  his  mother  had  read  some  of  them  aloud 
to  her  youuf^  visitor  nu)re  than  once.  Molly  had  asked  permission 
to  copy  one  or  two  of  those  which  were  her  greatest  favourites  ;  and 
this  quiet  summer  afternoon  she  took  this  copying  for  her  employ- 
ment, sittinj,'  at  the  pleasant  open  window,  and  losing  herself  in 
dreamy  out-looks  into  the  gardens  and  woods,  quivering  in  the  noon- 
tide heat.  The  house  was  so  still,  in  its  silence  it  might  have  been 
the  "  moated  grange ;  "  tho  bomming  buzz  of  the  blue  flies,  in  tho 
great  staircase  window,  seemed  the  loudest  noiso  in- doors.  And 
there  was  scarcely  a  sound  out-of-doors  but  the  humming  of  bees,  in 
the  flower-beds  below  the  window.  Distant  voices  from  tho  far-away 
fields  where  they  were  making  hay — the  scent  of  which  came  in 
sudden  wafts  distinct  from  that  of  tho  nearer  roses  and  honeysuckles 
— these  merry  piping  voices  just  made  Molly  feel  the  depth  of  tho 
present  silence.  She  had  left  off  copying,  her  hand  weary  with  tho 
unusual  exertion  of  so  much  writing,  and  she  was  lazily  trying  to 
leai'u  one  or  two  of  the  poems  off"  by  heart. 

I  asked  of  the  wind,  hut  answer  made  it  none, 
Save  its  accustomed  sad  and  solitary  moan — 

she  kept  saying  to  herself,  losing  her  sense  of  whatever  meaning  tho 
words  had  ever  had,  in  tho  repetition  which  had  become  mechanical. 
Suddenly  there  was  the  snap  of  a  shutting  gate  ;  wheels  crackling  on 
tho  dry  gravel,  horses'  feet  on  the  drive ;  a  loud  cheerful  voice  in  tho 
house,  coming  up  through  tho  open  wmdows,  tho  hall,  tho  passages, 
tho  staircase,  with  unwonted  fulness  and  roundness  of  tone.  Tho 
oiitrancc-hall  downstairs  was  paved  with  diamonds  of  black  and  white 
marble  ;  the  low  wide  staircase  that  went  in  short  flights  around  tho 
hall,  till  you  could  look  dovra  upon  the  marble  floor  from  tho  top 
stor}-  of  the  house,  was  uncaqietcd — uncovered.  The  squire  was 
too  proud  of  his  beautifully -joined  oaken  flooring  to  cover  this  stair- 
case up  unnecessarily ;  not  to  say  a  word  of  tho  usual  state  of  want 
of  ready  money  to  expend  upon  tho  decorations  of  his  house.  So, 
through  the  uudraporied  hollow  square  of  tho  hall  and  staircase 
every  sound  ascended  clear  and  distinct;  and  Molly  heard  tho 
squire's  glad  "  Hallo  !  hero  ho  is,"  and  madamc's  softer,  more 
Vol.  I.  G 


82  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

plaintive  voice  ;  and  then  the  loud,  full,  strange  tone,  whicli  'slie 
knew  must  be  Roger's.     Then  there  was  an  opening  and  shutting  of 
doors,  and  only  a  distant  buzz  of  talking.     Molly  began  again — 
I  asked  of  the  wind,  but  answer  made  it  none. 

And  this  time  she  had  nearly  finished  learning  the  poem,  when  she 
heard  Mrs.  Hamley  come  hastily  into  her  sitting-room  that  adjoined 
Molly's  bedroom,  and  burst  out  into  an  irrepressible  half-hysterical 
fit  of  sobbing.  Molly  was  too  young  to  have  any  complication  of 
motives  vrhich  should  prevent  her  going  at  once  to  try  and  give  what 
comfort  she  could.  In  an  instant  she  vras  kneeling  at  Mrs.  Hamley's 
feet,  holding  the  poor  lady's  hands,  kissing  them,  murmuring  soft 
words  ;  vrhich,  all  unmeaning  as  they  were  of  aught  but  sympathy 
with  the  untold  grief,  did  Mrs.  Hamley  good.  She  checked  herself, 
smiling  sadly  at  Molly  through  the  midst  of  her  thick-coming  sobs. 

"  It's  only  Osborne,"  said  she,  at  last.     "  Eoger  has  been  telling 
us  about  him." 

"  What  about  him  ?  "  asked  Molly,  eagerly. 
"  I  knew  on  Monday  ;  we  had  a  letter — he  said  he  had  not  done 
so  well  as  we  had  hoped — as  he  had  hoped  himself,  poor  fellow !  He 
said  he  had  just  passed,  but  was  only  low  down  among  the  junior 
optimcs,  and  not  where  he  had  expected,  and  had  led  us  to  expect. 
But  the  squire  has  never  been  at  college,  and  does  not  understand 
college  terms,  and  he  has  been  asking  Eoger  all  about  it,  and  Roger 
has  been  telling  him,  and  it  has  made  him  so  angry.  But  the  squire 
hates  college  slang  ; — he  has  never  been  there,  you  know ;  and  he 
thought  poor  Osborne  was  taking  it  too  lightly,  and  he  has  been 

asking  Roger  about  it,  and  Roger " 

There  was  a  fresh  fit  of  the  sobbing  crying.     Molly  burst  out, — 
"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Roger  should  have  told  ;  he  had  no  need  to 
begin  so  soon  about  his  brother's  failure.     Why,  he  hasn't  been  in 
the  house  an  hour  !  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  love  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hamley.  "  Roger  is  so  good. 
You  don't  understand.  The  squire  would  begin  and  ask  questions 
before  Roger  had  tasted  food — as  soon  as  ever  we  had  got  into  the 
dining-room.  And  all  he  said — to  me,  at  any  rate — was  that 
Osborne  was  nervous,  and  that  if  he  could  only  have  gone  in  for  the 
Chancellor's  medals,  he  would  have  carried  all  before  him.  But  Roger 
said  that  after  failing  like  this,  ho  is  not  very  likely  to  get  a  fellow- 
ship, which  the  squire  had  placed  his  hopes  on.  Osborne  himself 
seemed  so  sure  of  it,  that  the  squire  can't  understand  it,  and  is 


DRIFTING   INTO    DANUEU.  88 

Bcriouslv  angry,  and  growing  moro  so  tho  more  he  talks  about  it. 
IIo  has  kept  it  in  two  or  tbrco  days,  and  that  never  suits  him.  Ho 
is  always  better  when  ho  is  aiigrj-  about  a  thing  at  once,  and  does  not 
let  it  smoulder  in  his  mind.  Poor,  poor  Osborne  !  I  did  wish  ho  had 
boon  coming  straight  homo,  instead  of  going  to  these  friends  of  his ; 
I  thought  I  could  havo  comforted  him.  But  now  I'm  glad,  for  it  will 
bo  better  to  let  his  father's  anger  cool  first." 

So  talking  out  what  was  in  her  heart,  'Mm.  Haralcy  became  moro 
composed  ;  and  at  length  she  dismissed  Molly  to  dress  for  dinner, 
with  a  kiss,  sa}'iug, — 

"  You're  a  real  blessing  to  mothers,  child  !  You  givo  one  such 
pleasant  spnpathy,  both  in  one's  gladness  and  in  one's  sorrow ;  in 
one's  pride  (for  I  was  so  proud  last  week,  so  confident),  and  in  one's 
disappointment.  And  now  your  being  a  fourth  at  dinner  will  keep  us 
ofl'  that  sore  subject ;  there  arc  times  when  a  stranger  in  tho  house- 
hold is  a  wonderful  help." 

IMolly  thought  over  all  that  she  had  heard,  as  she  was  dressing 
and  putting  on  tho  terrible,  over- smart  plaid  gown  in  honour  of  the 
new  arrival.  Her  unconscious  fealty  to  Osborne  was  not  in  the  least 
shaken  by  his  having  come  to  grief  at  Cambridge.  Only  she  was 
indignant — with  or  without  reason — against  Roger,  who  seemed  to 
have  brought  the  reality  of  bad  news  as  an  ofiering  of  fii-st-fruits  on 
his  return  home. 

She  went  down  into  the  drawing-room  with  anything  but  a 
welcome  to  him  in  her  heart.  He  was  standing  by  his  mother  ;  tho 
squire  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance.  Molly  thought  that  the  two 
were  hand  in  hand  when  she  first  opened  the  door,  but  she  could  not 
bo  quite  sure.  Mrs.  Hamley  came  a  little  forwards  to  meet  her,  and 
introduced  her  in  so  fondly  intimate  a  way  to  her  son,  that  Molly, 
innocent  and  simple,  knowing  nothing  but  Hollingford  manners, 
which  woro  anything  but  formal,  half  put  out  her  hand  to  shake 
hands  with  one  of  whom  she  had  heard  fo  much — tho  son  of  such 
kind  friends.  She  could  only  hope  he  had  not  seen  the  movement, 
for  he  made  no  attempt  to  respond  to  it ;  only  bowed. 

Ho  was  a  tall  powerfully- made  young  man,  giving  the  impression 
of  strength  more  than  elegance.  His  fixco  was  rather  square,  ruddy- 
coloured  (as  his  father  had  said),  hair  and  eyes  brown — the  latter 
rather  dccp-sct  beneath  his  thick  eyebrows  ;  and  ho  had  a  trick  of 
wrinkling  up  his  eyelids  when  ho  wanted  particularly  to  observe  any- 
thing, which  made  his  eyes  look  even  smaller  still  at  such  times.   He 

G— 2 


84  WIVES  AND   DAU.GHTERS. 

had  a  large  mouth,  with  excessively  mobile  lips ;  ami  another  trick  of 
his  was,  that  when  he  was  amused  at  anything,  he  resisted  the 
impulse  to  laugh,  by  a  droll  manner  of  twitching  and  puckering  up 
his  mouth,  till  at  length  the  sense  of  humour  had  its  way,  and  his 
features  relaxed,  and  he  broke  into  a  broad  sunny  smile  ;  his  beautiful 
teeth — his  only  beautiful  feature — breaking  out  with  a  white  gleam 
upon  the  red-brown  countenance.  These  two  tricks  of  his — of 
crumpling  up  the  eyelids,  so  as  to  concentrate  the  power  of  sight, 
which  made  him  look  stem  and  thoughtful ;  and  the  odd  twitching  of 
the  lips  that  was  preliminary  to  a  smile,  which  made  him  look 
intensely  merr}- — gave  the  varying  expressions  of  his  face  a  greater 
range  "  from  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe,"  than  is  common  to 
most  men.  To  Molly,  who  was  not  finely  discriminative  in  her 
glances  at  the  stranger  this  first  night,  he  simply  appeared  "  heavy- 
looking,  clumsy,"  and  "  a  person  she  was  sure  she  should  never  get 
on  with."  He  certainly  did  not  seem  to  care  much  what  impression 
he  made  upon  his  mother's  visitor.  He  was  at  that  age  when  young 
men  admire  a  formed  beauty  more  than  a  face  with  any  amount  of 
future  capability  of  loveliness,  and  when  thej"  are  morbidlj-  conscious 
of  the  difficulty  of  finding  subjects  of  conversation  in  talking  to 
girls  in  a  state  of  feminine  hobbledehoyhood.  Besides,  his  thoughts 
were  full  of  other  subjects,  which  he  did  not  intend  to  allow  to  ooze 
out  in  words,  yet  he  wanted  to  prevent  any  of  that  heavy  silence 
which  he  feared  might  be  impending — with  an  angry  and  displeased 
father,  and  a  timorous  and  distressed  mother.  He  only  looked  upon 
Molly  as  a  badly-dressed,  and  rather  awkward  girl,  with  black  hair 
and  an  intelligent  face,  who  might  help  him  in  the  task  he  had  set 
himself  of  keeping  up  a  bright  general  conversation  during  the  rest 
of  the  evening ;  might  help  him — if  she  would,  but  she  would  not. 
She  thought  him  unfeeling  in  his  talkativeness  ;  his  constant  flow  of 
words  upon  indifferent  subjects  was  a  wonder  and  a  repulsion  to  her. 
How  could  he  go  on  so  cheerfully  while  his  mother  sat  there,  scarcely 
eating  anything,  and  doing  her  best,  with  ill-success,  to  swallow  down 
the  tears  that  would  keep  rising  to  her  eyes  ;  when  his  father's  hea\y 
brow  was  deeply  clouded,  and  he  evidently  cared  nothing — at  first  at 
least— for  all  the  chatter  his  son  poured  forth  ?  Had  Mr.  Roger 
Haniley  no  sympathy  in  him  ?  She  would  show  that  she  had  some, 
at  any  rate.  So  she  quite  declined  the  part,  which  he  had  hoped 
she  would  have  taken,  of  respondent,  and  possible  questioner  ;  and 
his  work  became  more  and  more  like  that  of  a  man  walking  in  a 


DniFTINO    INTO   DANGER.  85 

qnftf^mirc.  Onco  the  squiro  ronsoj  himself  to  speak  to  the  hutlcr ; 
he  fi'lt  the  nceil  of  otitwaid  stimulus — of  a  hotter  vintago  than  usual. 

*'  Bring  up  a  bottlo  of  the  Burgundy  with  the  yellow  seal." 

IIo  spoke  low  ;  he  had  no  spirit  to  speak  in  hia  usual  voice.  The 
butler  answered  in  tlio  samo  tonr?.  Molly  sitting  n.\ir  them,  and 
fiilent  herself,  hoard  what  they  said. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  there  arc  not  above  six  bottles  of  that  seal 
left;  and  it  is  Mr.  Osborne's  favourite  wine." 

The  squiro  turned  round  with  a  growl  in  his  voice. 

"Bring  up  a  bottle  of  the  liurgundy  with  the  yellow  seal,  as 
I  said." 

The  butler  went  away  wonderin,;^.  "  Mr.  Osborne's  "  likes  and 
dislikes  had  been  the  law  of  the  house  in  general  until  now.  If  ho 
had  liked  any  particular  food  or  drink,  any  seat  or  place,  any  special 
degree  of  warmth  or  coolness,  his  wishes  were  to  bo  attended  to ;  for 
he  was  the  heir,  and  ho  was  delicate,  and  he  was  the  clover  one  of 
tho  family.  All  the  out-of-doors  men  would  have  said  the  same. 
!Mr.  OsboiTie  wished  a  tree  cut  down,  or  kept  standing,  or  had  such- 
and-such  a  fancy  about  the  game,  or  desired  something  unusual 
about  the  horses  ;  and  they  had  all  to  attend  to  it  as  if  it  wore  law. 
But  to-day  the  Burgundy  with  the  yellow  scjjl  was  to  be  brought ; 
and  it  was  brought.  Molly  testified  with  quiet  vehemence  of  action  ; 
she  never  took  wine,  so  she  need  not  have  been  afraid  of  tho  man's 
pouring  it  into  her  glass ;  but  as  an  open  mark  of  fealty  to  the 
absent  Osborne,  however  Uttle  it  might  be  understood,  she  placed  the 
palm  of  her  small  brown  hand  over  the  top  of  the  glass,  and  held  it 
there,  till  the  wine  had  gone  round,  and  Roger  and  his  father  were 
in  full  enjoyment  of  it. 

After  dinner,  too,  the  gentlemen  lingered  long  over  their  dessei-t, 
and  !Molly  heard  them  laugliiug ;  and  then  she  saw  them  loitering 
about  in  the  twilight  out-of-doors ;  Roger  hatless,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  lounging  by  his  father's  side,  who  was  now  able  to  talk  in 
his  usual  loud  and  cheerful  way,  forgetting  Osborne.      Vtc  rictis ! 

And  so  in  mute  opposition  on  Molly's  side,  in  polite  indifference, 
scarcely  verging  upon  kindliness  on  his,  Roger  and  she  steered  clear 
of  each  other.  He  had  many  occupations  in  which  he  needed  no 
companionship,  oven  if  she  had  been  qualified  to  give  it.  The  worst 
was,  that  she  found  he  was  in  the  habit  of  occupying  the  libnm-,  her 
favourite  retreat,  in  the  mornings  before  ^frs.  Hamley  came  down. 
She  opened  the  half-closed  door  a  day  or  two  after  his  return  heme, 


86  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

and  found  him  busy  among  books  and  papers,  with  v/bicli  tbe  large 
leather-covered  table  was  strewn ;  and  she  softly  withdrew  before  he 
could  turn  his  head  and  see  her,  so  as  to  distinguish  her  from  one  of 
the  housemaids.  He  rode  out  every  day,  sometimes  with  his  father 
about  the  outlying  fields,  sometimes  far  away  for  a  good  gallop. 
Molly  would  have  enjoyed  accompanying  him  on  these  occasions,  for 
she  was  very  fond  of  riding ;  and  there  had  been  some  talk  of  sending 
for  her  habit  and  grey  pony  when  first  she  came  to  Hamley ;  only 
the  squire,  after  some  consideration,  had  said  he  so  rarely  did  more 
than  go  slowly  from  one  field  to  another,  where  his  labourers  were  at 
work,  that  he  feared  she  would  find  such  slow  work — ten  minutes 
riding  through  heavy  land,  twenty  minutes  sitting  still  on  horseback, 
listening  to  the  directions  he  should  have  to  give  to  his  men — rather 
dull.  Now,  when  if  she  had  had  her  pony  here  she  might  have  ridden 
out  with  Eoger,  without  giving  him  any  trouble — she  would  have 
taken  care  of  that — nobody  seemed  to  think  of  renewing  the  proposal. 

Altogether  it  was  pleasanter  before  he  came  home. 

Her  father  came  over  pretty  frequently ;  sometimes  there  were  long 
unaccountable  absences,  it  was  true ;  when  his  daughter  began  to 
fidget  after  him,  and  to  wonder  what  had  become  of  him.  But  when 
he  made  his  appearanpe  he  had  always  good  reasons  to  give  ;  and  the 
right  she  felt  that  she  had  to  his  familiar  household  tenderness ; 
the  power  she  possessed  of  fully  understanding  the  exact  value  of 
both  his  words  and  his  silence,  made  these  glimpses  of  intercourse 
with  him  inexpressibly  charming.  Latterly  her  burden  had  always 
been,  "When  may  I  come  home,  papa?"  It  v/as  not  that  she 
was  unhappy,  or  uncomfortable ;  she  was  passionately  fond  of  Mrs. 
Hamley,  she  was  a  favourite  of  the  squire's,  and  could  not  as  yet 
fully  understand  why  some  people  were  so  much  afraid  of  him ;  and 
as  for  Eoger,  if  he  did  not  add  to  her  pleasure,  he  scarcely  took 
away  from  it.  But  she  wanted  to  be  at  home  once  more.  The 
reason  why  she  could  not  tell ;  but  this  she  knew  full  well.  Mr. 
Gibson  reasoned  with  her  till  she  was  weary  of  being  completely 
convinced  that  it  was  right  and  necessary  for  her  to  stay  where  she 
was.  And  then  with  an  effort  she  stopped  the  C17  upon  her  tongue, 
for  she  saw  that  its  repetition  harassed  her  father. 

During  this  absence  of  hers  Mr.  Gibson  vras  drifting  into  matri- 
mony. He  was  partly  aware  of  whither  he  was  going ;  and  partly  it 
was  like  the  soft  floating  movement  of  a  dream.  He  was  more 
passive  than  active  in  the  affair  ;  though,  if  his  reason  had  not  fully 


DRIFTING  INTO  DANGER.  87 

approved  of  the  step  lie  was  tencliug  to — if  he  liad  not  believed  that 
a  second  marriage  was  the  very  best  way  of  cutting  the  Gordiau  knot 
of  domestic  difficulties,  he  could  have  made  an  effort  without  any 
great  trouble,  and  extricated  himself  without  pain  from  the  mesh  of 
circumstances.     It  happened  in  this  manner  : — 

Lady  Cuninor  having  married  her  two  eldest  daughters,  found 
her  labours  as  a  chaperone  to  Lady  Harriet,  the  youngest,  con- 
siderably lightened  by  co-operation  ;  and,  at  length,  she  had  leisure 
to  be  an  invalid.  She  was,  however,  too  energetic  to  allov/  herself 
this  indulgence  constantly  ;  only  she  permitted  herself  to  break  down 
occasionally  after  a  long  course  of  dinners,  late  hours,  and  Loudon 
atmosphere :  and  then,  leaving  Lady  Harriet  with  either  Lady 
Cushaven  or  Lady  Agnes  IManners,  she  betook  herself  to  the  com- 
parative quiet  of  the  Towers,  where  she  found  occupation  in  doing 
her  benevolence,  which  was  sadly  neglected  in  the  hurly-burly  of 
London.  This  particular  summer  she  had  broken  down  earlier  than 
usual,  and  longed  for  the  repose  of  the  country.  She  believed  that 
her  state  of  health,  too,  v/as  more  serious  than  previously ;  but  she 
did  not  say  a  word  of  this  to  her  husband  or  daughters ;  reserving 
her  confidence  for  Mr.  Gibson's  ears.  She  did  not  wish  to  take  Lady 
Harriet  away  from  the  gaieties  of  town  which  she  was  thoroughly 
•enjoying,  by  any  complaint  of  hers,  which  might,  after  all,  ba 
ill-founded  ;  and  yet  she  did  not  quite  like  being  without  a  com- 
panion in  the  three  weeks  or  a  month  that  might  intervene  before' 
her  family  would  join  her  at  the  Towers,  especially  as  the  annual 
festivity  to  the  school  visitors  was  impending ;  and  both  the  school 
and  the  visit  of  the  ladies  connected  with  it,  had  rather  lost  the  zest 
of  novelty. 

"  Thursday  the  19th,  Harriet,"  said  Lady  Cumnor,  medita- 
tively ;  "  what  do  you  say  to  coming  down  to  the  Towers  on  the 
18th,  and  helping  me  over  that  long  day ;  ycu  could  stay  m  the 
country  till  Monday,  and  have  a  few  days'  rest  and  good  air  ;  you 
would  return  a  great  deal  fi.-esher  to  the  remainder  of  your  gaieties. 
Your  father  would  bring  you  down,  I  know  :  indeed,  he  is  coming 
naturally." 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  "  said  Lady  Harriet,  the  youngest  daughter  of 
the  house — the  prettiest,  the  most  indulged;  "  I  cannot  go  ;  there 
is  the  water-party  up  to  Maidenhead  on  the  20th,  I  should  be  so 
■Sony  to  miss  it :  and  Mrs.  Duncan's  ball,  and  Grisi's  concert ; 
2)lease,  don't  want  me.     Besides,  I  should  do  no  good.     I  can't 


88  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

make  provincial  small-talk ;  I'm  not  up  iu  the  local  politics  of 
Hollingford.     I  should  he  making  mischief,  I  know  I  should." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Cumnor,  sighing,  "  I  had  for- 
gotten the  Maidenhead  water-party,  or  I  would  not  have  asked  you." 

"  What  a  pity  it  isn't  the  Eton  holidays,  so  that  you  could  have 
had  Hollingford's  boys  to  help  you  to  do  the  honours,  mamma. 
They  are  such  aifahle  little  prigs.  It  was  the  greatest  fun  to  watch 
them  last  year  at  Sir  Edward's,  doing  the  honours  of  their  grand- 
father's house  to  much  such  a  collection  of  humble  admirers  as  you 
get  together  at  the  Towers.  I  shall  never  forget  seeing  Edgar 
gravely  squiring  about  an  old  lady  iu  a  portentous  black  bonnet,  and 
giving  her  information  in  the  correctest  grammar  possible." 

"  Well,  I  Hke  those  lads,"  said  Lady  Cuxhaven  ;  "  they  are  on 
the  way  to  become  true  gentlemen.  But,  mamma,  why  shouldn't 
you  have  Clare  to  stay  with  you  ?  You  like  her,  and  she  is  just  the 
person  to  save  you  the  troubles  of  hospitality  to  the  Hollingford 
people,  and  we  should  all  be  so  much  more  comfortable  if  we  knew 
you  had  her  with  you." 

"  Yes,  Clare  would  do  very  well,"  said  Lady  Cumnor ;  "  but 
isn't  it  her  school-time  or  something  ?  We  must  not  interfere  with 
her  school  so  as  to  injure  her,  for  I  am  afraid  she  is  not  doing  too 
well  as  it  is ;  and  she  has  been  so  very  unlucky  ever  since  she  left  us 
— first  her  husband  died,  and  then  she  lost  Lady  Davies'  situation, 
and  then  Mrs.  Maude's,  and  now  Mr.  Preston  told  your  father  it  was 
all  she  could  do  to  pay  her  way  in  Ashcombc,  though  Lord  Cumnor 
lets  her  have  the  house  rent-free." 

"  I  can't  think  how  it  is,"  said  Lady  Harriet.  "  She's  not  very 
wise,  certainly ;  but  she  is  so  useful  and  agreeable,  and  has  such 
pleasant  manners.  I  should  have  thought  any  one  who  wasn't  par- 
ticular about  education  would  have  been  channed  to  keep  her  as  a 
governess." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  not  being  particular  about  education  ? 
Most  people  who  keep  governesses  for  their  children  are  supposed  to 
be  particular,"  said  Lady  Cuxhaven. 

"  Well,  they  think  themselves  so,  I've  no  doubt ;  but  I  call  you 
particular,  Mary,  and  I  don't  think  mamma  was  ;  but  she  thought 
herself  so,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  can't  think  what  you  mean,  Harriet,"  said  Lady  Cumnor,  a 
good  deal  annoyed  at  this  speech  of  her  clever,  heedless,  youngest 
daughter. 


DRIi'TING  INTO  DANGER.  89 

"  Oil  dear,  mamma,  you  did  everything  you  could  think  of  for 
us ;  but  you  see  you'd  ever  so  many  other  engrossing  interests,  and 
Maiy  hardly  allows  her  love  for  her  husband  to  interfere  with  her 
all-absorbing  care  for  the  children.  You  gave  us  the  best  of  masters 
in  every  department,  and  Clare  to  dragonize  and  keep  us  up  to  our 
preparation  for  them,  as  well  as  ever  she  could  ;  but  then  you  know, 
or  rather  j'ou  didn't  know,  some  of  the  masters  admired  our  very 
pretty  governess,  and  there  was  a  kind  of  respectable  veiled  flirtation 
going  on,  which  never  came  to  anything,  to  be  sure  ;  and  then  you 
were  often  so  overwhelmed  with  your  business  as  a  groat  lady — 
fashionable  and  benevolent,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — that  you  used 
to  call  Clare  away  from  us  at  the  most  critical  times  of  our  lessons, 
to  write  your  notes,  or  add  up  your  accounts,  and  the  consequence  is, 
that  I'm  about  the  most  ill-informed  girl  in  London.  Only  IMary  was 
so  capitally  trained  by  good  awkward  Miss  Benson,  that  she  is 
always  full  to  overflowing  with  accurate  knowledge,  and  her  glory  is 
reflected  upon  me." 

"  Do  you  think  what  Harriet  says  is  true,  Mary?"  asked  Lady 
Cumnor,  rather  anxiously. 

"  I  was  so  little  with  Clare  in  the  school-room.  I  used  to  read 
French  with  her ;  she  had  a  beautiful  accent,  I  remember.  Both 
Agnes  and  Harriet  were  very  fond  of  her.  I  used  to  be  jealous  for 
Miss  Benson's  sake,  and  perhaps  — "  Lady  Cuxhaven  paused  a 
minute — "  that  made  me  fancy  that  she  had  a  way  of  flatteiing  and 
indulging  them — not  quite  conscientious,  I  used  to  think.  But  girls 
are  severe  judges,  and  certainly  she  had  had  an  anxious  enough  life- 
time. I  am  always  so  glad  when  we  can  have  her,  and  give  her  a  little 
pleasure.  The  only  thing  that  makes  me  uneasy  now  is  the  way  in 
which  she  seems  to  send  her  daughter  away  from  her  so  much ;  we 
never  can  persuade  her  to  bring  Cynthia  with  her  when  she  comes 
to  see  us." 

"Now  that  I  call  ill-natured,"  said  Lady  Harriet ;  "hero  is  a 
poor  dear  woman  trying  to  earn  her  livelihood,  first  as  a  governess, 
and  what  could  she  do  with  her  daughter  then,  but  send  her  to 
school  ?  and  after  that,  when  Clare  is  asked  to  go  visiting,  and  is 
too  modest  to  bring  her  girl  with  her — besides  all  the  expense  of  the 
journey,  and  the  rigging  out — Mary  finds  fault  with  her  for  her 
modesty  and  economy." 

"  Well,  after  all,  we  are  not  discussing  Clare  and  her  afi'airs,  but 
trying  to  plan  for  mamma's  comfort.     I  don't  see  that  she  can  do 


90  WIVES  AIS^D  DAUGHTERS. 

better  than  ask  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  to  come  to  tlis  Tov/ers — as  soon  as 
her  holidays  begin,  I  mean." 

"  Here  is  her  last  letter,"  said  Lady  Cumnor,  vlio  had  been 
searching  for  it  in  her  escritoire,  while  her  daughters  were  talking. 
Holding  her  glasses  before  her  eyes,  she  began  to  read,  "  '  My 
wonted  misfortunes  appear  to  have  followed  mo  to  Ashcombe ' — um, 
um,  um ;  that's  not  it — '  Mr.  Preston  is  most  kind  in  sending  me 
fruit  and  flov/ers  from  the  Manor-house,  according  to  dear  Lord 
Cumuor's  kind  injunction.'  Oh,  here  it  is  !  '  The  vacation  begins 
on  the  11th,  according  to  the  usual  custom  of  schools  in  Ashcombe  ; 
and  I  must  then  try  and  obtain  some  change  of  ah*  and  scene,  in 
order  to  fit  myself  for  the  resumption  of  my  duties  on  the  10th  of 
August.'  You  see,  girls,  she  would  be  at  liberty,  if  she  has  not 
made  any  other  arrangement  for  spending  her  holidays.  To-day  is 
the  loth." 

"  I'll  write  to  her  at  once,  mamma,"  Lady  Harriet  said.  "  Clare 
and  I  arc  always  great  friends ;  I  was  her  confidant  in  her  loves  with 
poor  Mr.  Kirkpatrick,  and  we've  kept  up  our  intimacy  ever  since.  I 
know  of  three  offers  she  had  besides." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  Miss  Bowes  is  not  telling  her  love-affairs  to 
Grace  or  Lily.  Why,  Harriet,  you  could  not  have  been  older  than 
Grace  when  Clare  was  married  !  "  said  Lady  Cuxhaveu,  in  maternal 
alarm, 

"  No  ;  but  I  was  well  versed  in  the  tender  passion,  thanks  to 
novels.  Now  I  daresay  you  don't  admit  novels  into  your  school- 
room, Mary ;  so  your  daughters  wouldn't  be  able  to  administer 
discreet  s}anpathy  to  their  governess  in  case  she  was  the  heroine 
of  a  love-affair." 

"  My  dear  Harriet,  don't  let  me  hear  you  talking  of  love  in  that 
way  ;  it  is  not  pretty.     Love  is  a  serious  thing." 

"  My  dear  mamma,  your  exhortations  are  just  eighteen  years  too 
late.  I've  talked  all  the  freshness  off  love,  and  that's  the  reason  I'm 
tired  of  the  subject." 

This  last  speech  referred  to  a  recent  refusal  of  Lady  Harriet's, 
which  had  displeased  Lady  Cumnor,  and  rather  annoyed  my  lord ;  as 
they,  the  parents,  could  see  no  objection  to  the  gentleman  in  ques- 
tion. Lady  Cuxhaven  did  not  want  to  have  the  subject  brought  up, 
so  she  hastened  to  say, — 

"  Do  ask  the  poor  little  daughter  to  come  v.-ith  her  mother  to  the 
Towers  ;  why,  she  must  be  seventeen  or  more ;  she  would  really  be 


DRIFTING  INTO  DANGER.  91 

a  companion  to  you,  mamma,  if  her  mother  was  unablo  to  come," 
said  Lady  Cuxliaven. 

"I  'svas  not  ten  wlien  Clare  married,  and  I'm  nearly  nine-and- 
twenty,"  added  Lady  Hai'riet. 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  Harriet;  at  any  rate  you  are  but  eight-and- 
twenty  now,  and  you  look  a  great  deal  younger.  There  is  no  need 
to  be  always  bringing  up  your  age  on  every  possible  occasion." 

"  There  was  need  of  it  now,  though.  I  wanted  to  make  out 
how  old  Cynthia  Kirkpatrick  was.  I  think  she  can't  be  far  fi.-om 
eighteen." 

"  She  is  at  school  at  Boulogne,  I  know  ;  and  so  I  don't  think 
she  can  be  as  old  as  that.  Clare  says  something  about  her  in  this 
letter:  '  Under  these  circumstances'  (the  ill-success  of  her  school), 
*  I  cannot  think  myself  justified  in  allowing  myself  the  pleasure  of 
having  darling  Cynthia  at  home  for  the  holidays ;  especially  as  the 
period  when  the  vacation  in  French  schools  commences  differs  from 
that  common  in  England ;  and  it  might  occasion  some  confusion  in 
my  aiTangements  if  darling  Cynthia  were  to  come  to  Ashcombe,  and 
occupy  my  time  and  thoughts  so  immediately  before  the  commence- 
ment of  my  scholastic  duties  as  the  8th  of  August,  on  which  day  her 
vacation  begins,  which  is  but  two  days  before  my  holidays  end.'  So, 
you  see,  Clare  would  be  quite  at  liberty  to  come  to  me,  and  I  dare- 
say it  would  be  a  very  nice  change  for  her." 

"  And  Hollingford  is  busy  seeing  after  his  new  laboratoiy  at  the 
Towers,  and  is  constantly  backwards  and  forwards.  And  Agnes 
wants  to  go  there  for  change  of  air,  as  soon  as  she  is  strong  enough 
after  her  confinement.  And  even  my  own  dear  insatiable  *  me ' 
will  have  had  enough  of  gaiety  in  two  or  thi-ee  weeks,  if  this  hot 
weather  lasts." 

"  I  think  I  may  be  able  to  come  down  for  a  few  days  too,  if  you 
■will  let  me,  mamma  ;  and  I'll  bring  Grace,  who  is  looking  ratl^er 
pale  and  weedy;  growing  too  fast,  I  am  afi-aid.  So  I  hope  you 
won't  be  dull." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Cumnor,  di'awing  herself  up,  "  I  should 
be  ashamed  of  feeling  dull  with  my  resources  ;  my  duties  to  others 
and  to  myself!" 

So  the  plan  in  its  present  shape  was  told  to  Lord  Cumnor,  who 
highly  approved  of  it ;  as  he  always  did  of  ever}-  project  of  his  wife's. 
Lady  Cumnor's  character  was  perhaps  a  little  too  ponderous  for  him 
in  reality,  but  he  was  always  full  of  admiration  for  all  her  words  and 


92  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

deeds,  and  used  to  boast  of  her  wisdom,  lier  benevolence,  her  power 
and  dignity,  in  her  absence,  as  if  by  this  means  he  could  buttress  up 
his  own  more  feeble  nature. 

"Very  good — very  good,  indeed  !  Clare  to  join  you  at  the  Towers  ! 
Capital !  I  could  not  have  planned  it  better  myself !  I  shall  go  down 
with  you  on  Wednesday  in  time  for  the  jollification  on  Thursday.  I 
always  enjoy  that  day  ;  they  are  such  nice,  friendly  people,  those 
good  Hollingford  ladies.  Then  I'll  have  a  day  with  Sheepshanks, 
and  perhaps  I  may  ride  over  to  Ashcombe  and  see  Preston — Brown 
Jess  can  do  it  in  a  day,  eighteen  miles — to  be  sure !  But  there's 
back  again  to  the  Towers  ! — how  much  is  twice  eighteen — thirty  ?  " 

"  Thirty-six,"  said  Lady  Cumnor,  sharply. 

"So  it  is;  you're  alwaj^s  right,  my  dear.  Preston's  a  clever, 
sharp  fellow." 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  said  my  lady. 

"  He  takes  looking  after  ;  but  he's  a  sharp  fellow.  He's  such  a 
good-looking  man,  too,  I  wonder  you  don't  like  him." 

"  I  never  think  whether  a  land-agent  is  handsome  or  not.  They 
don't  belong  to  the  class  of  people  whose  appearance  I  notice." 

"To  be  sure  not.  But  he  is  a  handsome  fellow;  and  what 
should  make  you  like  him  is  the  interest  he  takes  in  Clare  and  her 
prospects.  He's  constantly  suggesting  something  that  can  be  done 
to  her  house,  and  I  know  he  sends  her  fruit,  and  flowers,  and  game 
just  as  regularly  as  we  should  ourselves  if  we  lived  at  Ashcombe." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?  "  said  Lady  Cumnor,  with  a  faint  suspicion  of 
motives  in  her  mind. 

"  About  twenty-seven,  I  think.  Ah  !  I  see  what  is  in  your  lady- 
ship's head.  No  !  no  !  he's  too  young  for  that.  You  must  look  out 
for  some  middle-aged  man,  if  you  want  to  get  poor  Clare  married  ; 
Preston  won't  do." 

"  I'm  not  a  match-maker,  as  you  might  know.  I  never  did  it  for 
my  ov.-n  daughters.  I'm  not  likely  to  do  it  for  Clare,"  said  she, 
leaning  back  languidly. 

"Well!  you  might  do  a  worse  thing.  I'm  beginning  to  think 
she'll  never  get  on  as  a  schoolmistress,  though  why  she  shouldn't, 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know  ;  for  she's  an  uncommonly  pretty  woman  for 
her  age,  and  her  having  lived  in  our  family,  and  your  having  had  her 
60  often  with  you,  ought  to  go  a  good  way.  I  say,  my  lady,  what  do 
you  think  of  Gibson  '?  He  would  be  just  the  right  age — widower — 
lives  near  the  Towers  ?  " 


DRIFTING   INTO  DANGER.  93 

"I  told  you  just  uow  I  was  no  match-maker,  my  lord.  I  sup- 
pose we  had  better  go  by  the  old  road — the  people  at  those  iuus 
know  us  ?  " 

And  so  they  passed  on  to  speaking  about  other  things  than  Mrs. 
Kirkpatrick  and  her  prospects,  scholastic  or  matrimonial. 


(     9i    ) 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   WIDOYv^ER  AND   THE  WIDOW. 

Mes.  Kirkpatrick  was  ouly  too  liappy  to  accept  Lady  Cumuor's 
invitation.  It  was  wliat  she  had  been  hoping  for,  but  hardly  daring 
to  expect,  as  she  believed  that  the  family  were  settled  in  London  for 
some  time  to  come.  The  Towers  was  a  pleasant  and  luxurious  house 
in  which  to  pass  her  holidays  ;  and  though  she  was  not  one  to  make 
deep  plans,  or  to  look  far  ahead,  she  was  quite  aware  of  the  prestige 
which  her  being  able  to  say  she  had  been  staying  with  "  dear  Lady 
Cumnor  "  at  the  Towers,  was  likely  to  give  her  and  her  school  in 
the  eyes  of  a  good  many  people ;  so  she  glady  prepared  to  join  her 
ladyship  on  the  17th,  Her  wardrobe  did  not  require  much  arrange- 
ment ;  if  it  had  done,  the  poor  lady  would  not  have  had  much  money 
to  appropriate  to  the  pui-pose.  She  was  very  pretty  and  graceful ; 
and  that  goes  a  great  way  towards  carrying  off  shabby  clothes ;  and 
it  was  her  taste  more  than  any  depth  of  feeling,  that  had  made  her 
persevere  in  wearing  all  the  delicate  tints — the  violets  and  grays — 
which,  with  a  certain  admixture  of  black,  constitute  half-mourning. 
This  style  of  becoming  dress  she  was  supposed  to  wear  in  memory 
of  Mr.  Kirkpatrick  ;  in  reality  because  it  was  both  lady-like  and 
economical.  Her  beautiful  hair  was  of  that  rich  auburn  that  hardly 
ever  turns  gray  ;  and  partly  out  of  consciousness  of  its  beauty,  and 
partly  because  the  washing  of  caps  is  expensive,  she  did  not  wear 
anything  on  her  head  ;  her  complexion  had  the  vivid  tints  that  often 
accompany  the  kind  of  hair  which  has  once  been  red  ;  and  the  only 
injury  her  skin  had  received  from  advancing  years  was  that  the 
colouring  was  rather  more  brilliant  than  delicate,  and  varied  less 
with  eveiy  passing  emotion.  She  could  no  longer  blush ;  and  at 
eighteen  she  had  been  very  proud  of  her  blushes.  Her  eyes  were 
soft,  large,  and  china-blue  in  colour ;  they  bad  not  much  expression 


TUB  WIDOWER  AND  TILE  WIDOW.  95 

or  shadow  about  them,  which  was  perhaps  owing  to  the  flaxen  colour 
of  her  eyelashes.  Her  figure  was  a  little  fuller  than  it  used  to  be, 
but  her  movements  were  as  soft  and  sinuous  as  ever.  Altogether, 
she  looked  much  younger  than  her  age,  which  was  not  far  short  of 
forty.  She  had  a  very  pleasant  voice,  and  read  aloud  well  and  dis- 
tinctly, which  Lady  Cumnor  liked.  Indeed,  for  some  inexplicable 
reasons,  she  was  a  greater,  more  positive  favourite  with  Lady 
Cumnor  than  with  any  of  the  rest  of  the  family,  though  they  all 
liked  her  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  found  it  agreeably  useful  to  have 
any  one  in  the  house  who  was  so  well  acquainted  with  their  ways  and 
habits  ;  so  ready  to  talk,  when  a  little  trickle  of  conversation  was 
required ;  so  w^illing  to  listen,  and  to  listen  with  tolerable  intelli- 
gence, if  the  subjects  spoken  about  did  not  refer  to  serious  solid 
literature,  or  science,  or  politics,  or  social  economy.  About  novels 
and  poetry,  travels  and  gossip,  personal  details,  or  anecdotes  of  any 
kind,  she  always  made  exactly  the  remarks  which  are  expected  from 
an  agreeable  listener ;  and  she  had  sense  enough  to  confine  herself 
to  those  short  expressions  of  wonder,  admiration,  and  astonishment, 
which  may  mean  anything,  when  more  recondite  things  were  talked 
about. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  change  to  a  poor  unsuccessful  schoolmis- 
tress to  leave  her  own  house,  full  of  battered  and  shabby  furniture 
(she  had  taken  the  goodwill  and  furniture  of  her  predecessor  at  a 
valuation,  two  or  three  years  before),  where  the  look-out  was  as 
gloomy,  and  the  surrounding  as  squalid,  as  is  often  the  case  in 
the  smaller  streets  of  a  countiy  town,  and  to  come  bowling  thi'our^h 
the  Towers  Park  in  the  luxurious  carriage  sent  to  meet  her;  to 
alight,  and  feel  secure  that  the  well-trained  servants  would  see  after 
her  bags  and  umbrella,  and  parasol,  and  cloak,  without  her  loading 
herself  with  all  these  portable  articles,  as  she  had  had  to  do  while 
following  the  wheel-barrow  containing  her  luggage  in  going  to  the 
Ashcombe  coach-ofiice  that  morning ;  to  pass  up  the  deep-piled 
caiq}ets  of  the  broad  shallow  stairs  into  my  lady's  own  room,  cool 
and  deliciously  fresh,  even  on  this  sultiy  day,  and  fragrant  with 
gi'eat  bowls  of  freshly  gathered  roses  of  every  shade  of  colour. 
There  were  two  or  three  new  novels  lying  uncut  on  the  table ;  the 
daily  papers,  the  magazines.  Every  chair  was  an  easy-chair  of 
some  kind  or  other ;  and  all  covered  with  French  chintz  that 
mimicked  the  real  flowers  in  the  garden  below.  She  was  familiar 
with  the  bedroom  called  hers,  to  v/hich  she  was  soon  ushered  by 


DG  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

Lady  Cumuor's  maid.     It  seemed  to  her  far  more  like  home  than 
the  dingy  place  she  had  left  that  moruiug ;  it  was  so  natural  to  her 
to  like  dainty  draperies,  and  harmonious  colouring,  and  fine  linen,' 
and  soft  raiment.     She  sate  down  in  the  arm-chair  by  the  bed-side, 
and  wondered  over  her  fate  something  in  this  fixshion — 

*'  One  would  think  it  was  an  easy  enough  thing  to  deck  a  looking- 
glass  like  that  with  muslin  and  pink  ribbons  ;  and  yet  how  hard  it  is 
to  keep  it  up  !  People  don't  know  how  hard  it  is  till  they've  tried  as 
I  have.  I  made  my  o^\^l  glass  just  as  pretty  when  I  first  went  to 
Ashcombc ;  but  the  muslin  got  dirty,  and  the  pink  ribbons  faded, 
and  it  is  so  difficult  to  earn  money  to  renew  them ;  and  when  one 
has  got  the  money  one  hasn't  the  heart  to  spend  it  all  at  once.  One 
thinks  and  one  thinks  how  one  can  get  the  most  good  out  of  it ;  and 
a  new  gown,  or  a  day's  pleasure,  or  some  hot-house  fruit,  or  some 
piece  of  elegance  that  can  be  seen  and  noticed  in  one's  drawing- 
room,  carries  the  day,  and  good-by  to  prettily  decked  looking-glasses. 
Now  here,  money  is  like  the  air  they  breathe.  No  one  even  asks  or 
knows  how  much  the  washing  costs,  or  what  pink  ribbon  is  a  j'ard. 
Ah  !  it  would  be  different  if  they  had  to  earn  every  penny  as  I  have  ! 
They  would  have  to  calculate,  like  me,  hov/  to  get  the  most  pleasure 
out  of  it.  I  wonder  if  I  am  to  go  on  all  my  life  toiling  and  moiling 
for  money  ?  It's  not  natural.  Marriage  is  the  natural  thing  ;  then 
the  husband  has  all  tbat  kind  of  dirty  work  to  do,  and  his  wife  sits 
in  the  drawing-room  like  a  lady.  I  did,  when  poor  Kirkpatrick  was 
alive.     Heigho  !  it's  a  sad  thing  to  be  a  widow." 

Then  there  was  the  contrast  between  the  dinners  which  she  had 
to  share  with  her  scholars  at  Ashcombe — rounds  of  beef,  legs  of 
mutton,  great  dishes  of  potatoes,  and  large  batter-puddings,  with  the 
tiny  meal  of  exquisitely  cooked  delicacies,  sent  up  on  old  Chelsea 
china,  that  was  served  every  day  to  the  earl  and  countess  and  herself 
at  the  Towers.  She  dreaded  the  end  of  her  holidays  as  much  as  the 
most  home-loving  of  her  pupils.  But  at  this  time  that  end  was 
some  weeks  off,  so  Clare  shut  her  eyes  to  the  future,  and  tried  to 
relish  the  present  to  its  fullest  extent.  A  disturbance  to  the  pleasant, 
oven  course  of  the  summer  days  came  in  the  indisposition  of  Lady 
Cumnor.  Her  husband  had  gone  back  to  London,  and  she  and 
Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  had  been  left  to  the  very  even  tenor  of  life,  which 
was  according  to  my  lady's  wish  just  now.  In  spite  of  her  languor 
and  fatigue,  she  had  gone  through  the  day  when  the  school  visitors 
came  to  the  Towers,  in  full  dignity,  dictating  clearly  all  that  was  to 


T]IE  WIDOWER  AND   THE   WIDOW.  97 

be  done,  what  walks  were  to  be  taken,  what  hothouses  to  be  seen, 
and  when  the  party  were  to  return  to  the  "  collation."  She  herself 
remained  indoors,  with  one  or  two  ladies  who  had  ventured  to  think 
that  the  fatigue  or  the  heat  might  be  too  much  for  them,  and  who 
had  therefore  declined  accompanj'ing  the  ladies  in  charge  of  Mrs. 
Kirkpatrick,  or  those  other  favoured  few  to  whom  Lord  Cumnor  was 
explaining  the  new  buildings  in  his  farm-yard.  "  With  the  utmost 
condescension,"  as  her  hearers  afterwards  expressed  it,  Lady  Cumnor 
told  them  all  about  her  married  daughters'  establishments,  nurseries, 
plans  for  the  education  of  their  children,  and  manner  of  passing  the 
day.  But  the  exertion  tired  her  ;  and  when  every  one  had  left,  the 
probability  is  that  she  would  have  gone  to  lie  down  and  rest,  had  not 
her  husband  made  an  unlucky  remark  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart. 
He  came  up  to  her  and  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  sadly  tired,  my  lady  ?  "  he  said. 

She  braced  her  muscles,  and  drew  herself  up,  saying  coldly, — 

"  ^Vhen  I  am  tired,  Lord  Cumnor,  I  will  tell  you  so."  And  her 
fatigue  showed  itself  during  the  rest  of  the  evening  in  her  sitting 
particularly  upright,  and  declining  all  offers  of  easy-chairs  or  foot- 
stools, and  refusing  the  insult  of  a  suggestion  that  they  should  all  go 
to  bed  earlier.  She  went  on  in  something  of  this  kind  of  manner  as 
long  as  Lord  Cumnor  remained  at  the  Towers.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick 
was  quite  deceived  by  it,  and  kept  assuring  Lord  Cumnor  that  she 
had  never  seen  dear  Lady  Cumnor  looking  better,  or  so  strong.  But 
he  had  an  affectionate  heart,  if  a  blundering  head  ;  and  though  he 
could  give  no  reason  for  his  belief,  he  was  almost  certain  his  wife 
was  not  well.  Yet  he  was  too  much  afraid  of  her  to  send  for 
Mr.  Gibson  without  her  permission.     His  last  words  to  Clare  were — 

"  It's  such  a  comfort  to  leave  my  lady  to  you  ;  only  don't  j'ou  be 
deluded  by  her  ways.  She'll  not  show  she's  ill  till  she  can't  he^p  it. 
Consult  with  Bradley  "  (Lady  Cumnor's  '•  own  woman," — she  dis- 
liked the  new-fangleduess  of  "  lady's-maid  ")  ;  "  and  if  I  were  you, 
I'd  send  and  ask  Gibson  to  call — you  might  make  any  kind  of  a  pre- 
tence,"— and  then  the  idea  he  had  had  in  London  of  the  fitness  of  a 
match  between  the  two  coming  into  his  head  just  now,  he  could  not 
help  adding, — "  Get  him  to  come  and  see  you,  he's  a  very  agreeable 
man  ;  Lord  HoUiugford  says  there's  no  one  like  him  in  these  parts  : 
and  he  might  be  looking  at  my  lady  while  he  was  talking  to  you,  and 
see  if  he  thinks  her  really  ill.  And  let  me  know  what  he  says 
about  her." 

Vol.  I.  7 


98  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

But  Clare  was  just  as  great  a  coward  about  doing  anything  for 
Lady  Cumnor  which  she  had  not  expressly  ordered,  as  Lord  Cumnor 
himself.  She  knew  she  might  fall  into  such  disgrace  if  she  sent  for 
Mr.  Gibson  without  direct  permission,  that  she  might  never  be  asked 
to  stay  at  the  Towers  again ;  and  the  life  there,  monotonous  in  its 
smoothness  of  luxury  as  it  might  be  to  some,  v/as  exactly  to  her 
taste.  She  in  her  turn  tried  to  put  upon  Bradley  the  duty  which 
Lord  Cumnor  had  put  upon  her. 

"  Mrs.  Bradley,"  she  said  one  day,  "  are  you  quite  comfortable 
about  my  lady's  health?  Lord  Cumnor  fancied  that  she  was  looking 
worn  and  ill  ?" 

"  Indeed,  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  I  don't  think  my  lady  is  herself.  I 
can't  persuade  myself  as  she  is,  though  if  you  was  to  question  me  till 
night  I  couldn't  tell  you  why." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  make  some  errand  to  HoUingford, 
and  see  Mr.  Gibson,  and  ask  him  to  come  round  this  way  some  day, 
and  make  a  call  on  Lady  Cumnor  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  as  much  as  my  place  is  worth,  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick. 
Till  my  lady's  dying  day,  if  Providence  keeps  her  in  her  senses, 
she'll  have  everything  done  her  own  way,  or  not  at  all.  There's  only 
Lady  Harriet  that  can  manage  her  the  least,  and  she  not  always." 

"  Well,  then — we  must  hope  that  there  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  her ;  and  I  daresay  there  is  not.  She  says  there  is  not,  and 
she  ought  to  know  best  herself." 

But  a  day  or  two  after  this  conversation  took  place,  Lady  Cumnor 
startled  Mrs.  liirkpatrick,  by  saying  suddenly, — 

"  Clare,  I  wish  you'd  write  a  note  to  Mr.  Gibson,  saying  I  should 
like  to  see  him  this  afternoon.  I  thought  he  would  have  called  of 
himself  before  now.    He  ought  to  have  done  so,  to  pay  his  respects." 

Mr.  Gibson  had  been  far  too  busy  in  his  profession  to  have  time 
for  mere  visits  of  ceremony,  though  he  knew  quite  well  he  was 
neglecting  what  was  expected  of  him.  But  the  district  of  which  he 
may  bo  said  to  have  had  medical  charge  was  full  of  a  bad  kind  of 
low  fever,  which  took  up  all  his  time  and  thought,  and  often  made 
him  very  thankful  that  Molly  was  out  of  the  way  in  the  quiet  shades 
of  Hamley. 

His  domestic  "  rows  "  had  not  healed  over  in  the  least,  though 
he  was  obliged  to  put  the  perplexities  on  one  side  for  the  time.  The 
last  drop — the  final  straw,  had  been  an  impromptu  visit  of  Lord 
HoUingford's,  whom  he  had  met  in  the  town  one  forenoon.     They 


TUE  WIDOAVER  AND  THE  WIDOW.  99 

liad  had  a  good  deal  to  say  to  each  other  about  some  new  scientific 
discovery,  with  the  details  of  which  Lord  Hollingford  was  well 
acquainted,  while  Mr.  Gibson  was  ignorant  and  deeply  interested. 
At  length  Lord  Hollingford  said  suddenly, — 

"  Gibson,  I  wonder  if  you'd  give  me  some  lunch;  I've  been  a 
^ood  deal  about  since  my  seven-o'clock  breakfast,  and  am  getting 
quite  ravenous." 

Now  Mr.  Gibson  was  only  too  much  pleased  to  show  hospitaUty 
to  one  whom  he  liked  and  respected  so  much  as  Lord  Hollingford, 
and  he  gladly  took  him  home  with  him  to  the  early  family  dinner. 
But  it  was  just  at  the  time  when  the  cook  was  sulking  at  Bethia's 
dismissal — and  she  chose  to  be  unpunctual  and  careless.  There  was 
no  successor  to  Bethia  as  yet  appointed  to  wait  at  the  meals.  So, 
though  Mr.  Gibson  knew  well  that  bread-and-cheese,  cold  beef,  or 
the  simplest  food  available,  would  have  been  welcome  to  the  hungry 
lord,  he  could  not  get  either  these  things  for  luncheon,  or  even  the 
family  dinner,  at  anything  like  the  proper  time,  in  spite  of  all  his 
ringing,  and  as  much  anger  as  he  liked  to  show,  for  fear  of  making 
Lord  Hollingford  uncomfortable.  At  last  dinner  was  ready,  but  the 
poor  host  saw  the  want  of  nicety — almost  the  want  of  cleanliness, 
in  all  its  accompaniments — dingy  plate,  dull-looking  glass,  a  table- 
cloth that,  if  not  absolutely  dirty,  was  anything  but  fresh  in  its 
splashed  and  rumpled  condition,  and  compared  it  in  his  own  mind 
with  the  dainty  delicacy  with  which  even  a  loaf  of  brown  bread  was 
served  up  at  his  guest's  home.  He  did  not  apologize  directly,  but, 
after  dinner,  just  as  they  were  parting,  he  said, — 

"  You  see  a  man  like  me — a  widower — vdth  a  daughter  who 
cannot  always  be  at  home — has  not  a  regulated  household  which 
would  enable  me  to  command  the  small  portions  of  time  I  can  spend 
there."  ,, 

He  made  no  allusion  to  the  comfortless  meal  of  which  they  had 
both  partaken,  though  it  was  full  in  his  mind.  Nor  was  it  absent 
from  Lord  Hollingford's  as  he  made  reply, — 

"  True,  true.  Yet  a  man  like  you  ought  to  be  free  from  any 
thought  of  household  cares.  You  ought  to  have  somebody.  How 
old  is  Miss  Gibson?" 

"  Seventeen.     It's  a  veiy  awkward  age  for  a  motherless  girl." 

"Yes;  very.  I  have  only  boys,  but  it  must  be  very  awkward 
with  a  girl.  Excuse  me,  Gibson,  but  we're  talking  like  fiicnds. 
Have  you  never  thought  of  marrying  again  ?     It  would  not  be  like 

7-2 


100  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTEES. 

a  first  marriage,  of  course ;  but  if  you  found  a  sensible  agreeable 
woman  of  thirty  or  so,  I  really  think  you  couldn't  do  better  than  take 
her  to  manage  your  home,  and  so  save  you  either  discomfort  or 
wrong ;  and,  beside,  she  would  be  able  to  give  your  daughter  that 
kind  of  tender  supervision  which,  I  fancy,  all  girls  of  that  age 
require.  It's  a  delicate  subject,  but  you'll  excuse  my  having  spoken 
frankly." 

Mr,  Gibson  had  thought  of  this  advice  several  times  since  it  was 
given  ;  but  it  was  a  case  of  "  first  catch  your  hare."  Where  was 
the  "  sensible  and  agreeable  woman  of  thirty  or  so?"  Not  Miss 
Browning,  nor  Miss  Phoebe,  nor  Miss  Goodenough.  Among  his 
country  patients  there  were  two  classes  pretty  distinctly  marked  : 
farmers,  whose  children  were  unrefined  and  uneducated ;  squires, 
whose  daughters  would,  indeed,  think  the  world  was  coming  to  a 
pretty  pass,  if  they  were  to  marry  a  country  surgeon. 

But  the  first  day  on  which  Mr.  Gibson  paid  his  visit  to  Lady 
Cumnor,  he  began  to  think  it  possible  that  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  was  his 
"  hare."  He  rode  away  with  slack  rein,  thinking  over  what  he  knew 
of  her,  more  than  about  the  prescriptions  he  should  write,  or  the  way 
he  was  going.  He  remembered  her  as  a  very  pretty  Miss  Clare  :  the 
governess  who  had  the  scarlet  fever ;  that  was  in  his  wife's  days,  a 
long  time  ago ;  he  could  hardly  understand  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's 
youthfuluess  of  appearance  when  he  thought  how  long.  Then  he  had 
heard  of  her  marriage  to  a  curate  ;  and  the  next  day  (or  so  it 
seemed,  he  could  not  recollect  the  exact  duration  of  the  interval), 
of  his  death.  He  knew,  in  some  way,  that  ever  since  she  had  been 
living  as  a  governess  in  difi'erent  faniilies  ;  but  that  she  had  always 
been  a  great  favourite  with  the  family  at  the  Towers,  for  whom,  quite 
independent  of  their  rank,  he  had  a  true  respect.  A  year  or  two 
ago  he  had  heard  that  she  had  taken  the  good-will  of  a  school  at 
Ashcombe  ;  a  small  town  close  to  another  property  of  Lord  Cumnor's, 
in  the  same  county.  Ashcombe  was  a  larger  estate  than  that  near 
Holliugford,  but  the  old  Manor-house  there  was  not  nearly  so  good 
a  residence  as  the  Towers ;  so  it  was  given  up  to  Mr.  Preston,  the 
laud-agent,  for  the  Ashcombe  property,  just  as  Mr.  Sheepshanks  was 
for  that  at  Holliugford.  There  were  a  few  rooms  at  the  Manor-house 
reserved  for  the  occasional  visits  of  the  family,  otherwise  Mr.  Preston, 
a  handsome  young  bachelor,  had  it  all  to  himself.  Mr.  Gibson  knew 
that  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  had  one  child,  a  daughter,  who  must  be  much 
about  the  same  age  as  Molly.     Of  course  she  had  very  little,  if  any, 


THE   WIDOWED,   AND   THE   WIDOW.  101 

property.  But  he  liimself  had  lived  carefully,  and  had  a  few 
thousands  well  invested  ;  besides  which,  his  professional  income  \vas 
good,  and  increasing  rather  than  diminishing  every  year.  By  the 
time  he  had  arrived  at  this  point  in  his  consideration  of  the  case,  he 
was  at  the  house  of  the  next  patient  on  his  round,  and  he  put  away 
all  thought  of  matrimony  and  Mrs.  Ivirkpatrick  for  the  time.  Once 
,again,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  he  remembered  with  a  certain 
pleasure  that  Molly  had  told  him  some  little  details  connected  with 
her  unlucky  detention  at  the  Towers  five  or  six  years  ago,  which  had 
made  him  feel  at  the  time  as  if  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  had  behaved  very 
kindly  to  his  little  girl.  80  there  the  matter  rested  for  the  present, 
as  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

Lady  Cumnor  was  out  of  health ;  but  not  so  ill  as  she  had  been 
fancying  herself  during  all  those  days  when  the  people  about  her 
dared  not  send  for  the  doctor.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  her  to  have 
Mr.  Gibson  to  decide  for  her  what  she  was  to  do  ;  v>'hat  to  eat,  drink, 
avoid.  Such  decisions  ab  extra,  are  sometimes  a  wonderful  relief  to 
those  whose  habit  it  has  been  to  decide,  not  only  for  themselves, 
but  for  every  one  else ;  and  occasionally  the  relaxation  of  the  strain 
which  a  character  for  infallible  wisdom  brings  with  it,  does  much  to 
restore  health.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  thought  in  her  secret  soul  that 
she  had  never  found  it  so  easy  to  get  on  with  Lady  Cumnor ;  and 
Bradley  and  she  had  never  done  singing  the  praises  of  Mr.  Gibson, 
'•  who  always  managed  my  lady  so  beautifully." 

Repoi'ts  were  duly  sent  up  to  my  lord,  but  he  and  his  daughters 
were  strictly  forbidden  to  come  down.  Lady  Cumnor  wished  to  be 
weak  and  languid,  and  uncertain  both  in  body  and  mind,  without  the 
family  observation.  It  was  a  condition  so  difi'erent  to  anything  she 
had  ever  been  in  before,  that  she  was  unconsciously  afraid  of  losing 
her  prestige,  if  she  was  seen  in  it.  Sometimes  she  herself  -n^'ote  the 
daily  bulletins ;  at  other  times  she  bade  Clare  do  it,  but  she  would 
always  see  the  letters.  Any  answers  she  received  from  her  daughters 
she  used  to  read  herself,  occasionally  imparting  some  of  their  contents 
to  "  that  good  Clare."  But  anybody  might  read  my  lord's  letters. 
There  was  no  great  fear  of  family  secrets  oozing  out  in  his  sprawling 
lines  of  afl'ection.  But  once  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  came  upon  a  sentence 
in  a  letter  from  Lord  Cumnor,  which  she  was  reading  out  loud  to 
his  wife,  that  caught  her  eye  before  she  came  to  it,  and  if  she  could 
have  skipped  it  and  kept  it  for  private  perusal,  she  would  gladly  have 
done  so.     My  lady  was  too  sharp  for  her,  though.     In  her  opinion 


102  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

"  Clare  was  a  good  creature,  but  not  clever,"  the  truth  being  that 
she  was  not  always  quick  at  resources,  though  tolerably  unscrupulous 
in  the  use  of  them. 

"  Read  on.  What  are  you  stopping  for  ?  There  is  no  bad  news,, 
is  there,  about  Agnes  ? — Give  me  the  letter." 

Lady  Cumnor  read,  half  aloud, — 

"  How  are  Clare  and  Gibson  getting  on  ?  You  despised  my  advice 
to  help  on  that  affair,  but  I  really  think  a  little  match-making  would 
be  a  veiy  pleasant  amusement  now  that  you  are  shut  up  in  the  house  ; 
and  I  cannot  conceive  any  marriage  more  suitable." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Lady  Cumnor,  laughing,  "  it  was  awkward  for  you 
to  come  upon  that,  Clare  :  I  don't  wonder  you  stopped  short.  You 
gave  me  a  terrible  fright,  though." 

"Lord  Cumnor  is  so  fond  of  joking,"  said  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  a 
little  flurried,  yet  quite  recognizing  the  truth  of  his  last  words, — 
"  I  cannot  conceive  any  marriage  more  suitable."  She  wondered 
what  Lady  Cumnor  thought  of  it.  Lord  Cumnor  wrote  as  if  there 
was  really  a  chance.  It  was  not  an  unpleasant  idea ;  it  brought  a 
faint  smile  out  upon  her  face,  as  she  sat  by  Lady  Cumnor,  while  the 
latter  took  her  afternoon  nap. 


(     103 


CHAPTER   X. 

A  CRISIS. 

Mrs.  KiEKPATEicK  had  been  reading  aloud  till  Lady  Cumnor  fell 
asleep,  the  book  rested  on  her  knee,  just  kept  from  falling  by  her 
hold.  She  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  not  seeing  the  trees  iu 
the  park,  nor  the  glimpses  of  the  hills  beyond,  but  thinking  how 
pleasant  it  would  be  to  ha^-e  a  husband  once  more  ; — some  one  who 
would  work  while  she  sate  at  her  elegant  ease  in  a  prettily-furnished 
drawing-room  ;  and  she  was  rapidly  investing  this  imaginary  bread- 
winner with  the  form  and  features  of  the  country  surgeon,  when  there 
was  a  slight  tap  at  the  door,  and  almost  before  she  could  rise,  the 
object  of  her  thoughts  came  in.  She  felt  herself  blush,  and  she  was 
not  displeased  at  the  consciousness.  She  advanced  to  meet  hhn, 
making  a  sign  towards  her  sleeping  ladyship. 

"  Veiy  good,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  casting  a  professional  eye 
on  the  slumbering  figure  ;  "  can  I  speak  to  you  for  a  minute  or  two 
in  the  library?  " 

"  Is  he  going  to  offer  ?  "  thought  she,  with  a  sudden  palpitation, 
and  a  conviction  of  her  willingness  to  accept  a  man  whom  an  hour 
before  she  had  simply  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  category  of 
unmarried  men  to  whom  matrimony  was  possible.  ^ 

He  was  only  going  to  make  one  or  two  medical  inquiries  ;  she 
found  that  out  very  speedily,  and  considered  the  conversation  as 
rather  flat  to  her,  though  it  might  be  instructive  to  him.  She  was 
not  aware  that  he  finally  made  up  his  mind  to  propose,  during  the 
time  that  she  was  speaking — answering  his  questions  in  many  words, 
but  he  was  accustomed  to  winnow  the  chafi"  from  the  corn ;  and  her 
voice  was  so  soft,  her  accent  so  pleasant,  that  it  struck  him  as  par- 
ticularly agreeable  after  the  broad  country  accent  he  was  perpetually 
hearing.  Then  the  harmonious  colours  of  her  dress,  and  her  slow 
and  graceful  movements,  had  something  of  the  same  soothing  effect 


104  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTEHS. 

upon  his  nerves  that  a  cat's  purring  has  upon  some  people's.  He 
began  to  think  that  he  should  be  fortunate  if  he  could  win  her,  for 
his  own  sake.  Yesterday  he  had  looked  upon  her  more  as  a  possible 
stepmother  for  Molly  ;  to-day  he  thought  more  of  her  as  a  wife  for 
himself.  The  remembrance  of  Lord  Cumnor's  letter  gave  her  a  very 
becoming  consciousness  ;  she  wished  to  attract,  and  hoped  that  she 
was  succeeding.  Still  they  only  talked  of  the  countess's  state  for 
some  time  :  then  a  lucky  shower  came  on.  Mr.  Gibson  did  not 
care  a  jot  for  rain,  but  just  now  it  gave  him  an  excuse  for  lingering. 

"  It's  very  stormy  weather,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  very.  My  daughter  writes  me  word,  that  for  tvv'o  days 
last  week  the  packet  could  not  sail  from  Boulogne." 

"  Miss  Kirkpatrick  is  at  Boulogne,  is  she  '?  " 

"  Yes,  poor  girl ;  she  is  at  school  there,  trying  to  perfect  herself 
in  the  French  language.  But,  Mr.  Gibson,  you  must  not  call  her 
Miss  Kirkpatrick.  Cynthia  remembers  you  with  so  much — affection, 
I  may  say.  She  was  your  little  patient  M'hen  she  had  the  measles 
here  four  years  ago,  you  know.  Pray  call  her  Cynthia  ;  she  would 
be  quite  hurt  at  such  a  formal  name  as  Miss  Kirkpatrick  from  you." 

"  Cynthia  seems  to  me  such  an  out-of-the-way  name,  only  fit  for 
poetry,  not  for  daily  use." 

"It  is  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  in  a  plaintive  tone  of 
reproach.  "I  was  christened  Hyacinth,  and  her  poor  father  would 
have  her  called  after  me.     I'm  sorry  you  don't  like  it." 

Mr.  Gibson  did  not  know  what  to  say.  He  was  not  quite  pre- 
pared to  plunge  into  the  directly  personal  style.  While  he  was 
hesitating,  she  went  on — 

*'  Hyacinth  Clare  !  Once  upon  a  time  I  was  quite  proud  of  my 
pretty  name  ;  and  other  people  thought  it  pretty,  too." 

"  I've  no  doubt — "  Mr.  Gibson  began;  and  then  stopped. 

"Perhaps  I  did  wrong  in  yielding  to  his  wish,  to  have  her 
called  by  such  a  romantic  name.  It  may  excite  prejudice  against 
her  in  some  people  ;  and,  poor  child  !  she  will  have  enough  to 
struggle  with.  A  young  daughter  is  a  great  charge,  Mr.  Gibson, 
especially  when  there  is  only  one  parent  to  look  after  her." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  he,  recalled  to  the  remembrance  of 
Molly;  "  though  I  should  have  thought  that  a  girl  who  is  so  for- 
tunate as  to  have  a  mother  could  not  feel  the  loss  of  her  father  so 
acutely  as  one  who  is  motherless  must  suffer  from  her  deprivation." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  your  own  daughter.     It  was  careless  of  me 


A  CRISIS.  105 

to  say  wliat  I  did.  Dear  cliild !  liow  well  I  remember  ber  sweet 
little  face  as  sbe  lay  sleeping  on  my  bed.  I  suppose  sbe  is  nearly 
groAra-up  now.  Sbe  must  be  near  my  Cyntbia's  age.  How  I  sboukl 
like  to  see  ber  !  " 

"  I  bope  you  will.  I  sbould  like  you  to  see  ber.  I  sbould  like 
you  to  love  my  poor  little  Molly, — to  love  ber  as  your  own — "  He 
swallowed  down  sometbing  tbat  rose  in  bis  tbroat,  and  was  nearly 
clicking  bim. 

"  Is  be  going  to  offer  ?  J.s  be  ?  "  sbe  wondered  ;  and  sbe  began 
to  tremble  in  tbe  suspense  before  be  next  spoke. 

"  Could  you  love  ber  as  your  daugbter  ?  "Will  you  try  ?  Will 
you  give  me  tbe  rigbt  of  introducing  you  to  bor  as  ber  futui'e  motber; 
as  my  wife  ?  " 

Tbere  !  be  bad  done  it — wbetber  it  was  wise  or  foolisb — be  bad 
done  it ;  but  be  was  aware  tbat  tbe  question  as  to  its  wisdom  came 
into  bis  mind  tbe  instant  tbat  tbe  words  were  said  past  recall. 

Sbe  bid  ber  face  in  ber  bauds. 

"  Ob  !  Mr.  Gibson,"  sbe  said  ;  and  tben,  a  little  to  bis  surprise, 
and  a  great  deal  to  ber  own,  sbe  burst  into  bysterical  tears  :  it  was 
sucb  a  wonderful  relief  to  feel  tbat  sbe  need  not  struggle  any  more 
for  a  livelibood. 

"  My  dear — my  dearest,"  said  be,  trying  to  sootbe  ber  witb  word 
and  caress  ;  but,  just  at  tbe  moment,  uncertain  wbat  name  be  ougbt 
to  use.  After  ber  sobbing  bad  abated  a  little,  sbe  said  berself,  as  if 
understanding  his  difficulty, — 

"  Call  me  Hyacinth— your  own  Hyacinth.  I  can't  bear  '  Clare,' 
it  does  so  remind  me  of  being  a  governess,  and  those  days  are  all 
past  now." 

' '  Yes  ;  but  surely  no  one  can  have  been  more  valued,  more 
beloved  than  you  have  been  in  this  family  at  least."  ^ 

"  Oh,  yes  !  they  have  been  very  good.  But  still  one  has  always 
bad  to  remember  one's  position." 

"  We  ought  to  tell  Lady  Cumnor,"  said  he,  thinking,  perhaps, 
more  of  tbe  various  duties  which  lay  before  bim  in  consequence  of 
the  step  be  had  just  taken,  than  of  wbat  his  future  bride  was  saying. 

"You'll  tell  ber,  won't  you?"  said  sbe  looking  up  in  his  face 
with  beseeching  eyes.  "  I  always  like  other  people  to  tell  ber 
things,  and  tben  I  can  see  how  she  takes  them." 

"  Certainly  !  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish.  Shall  we  go  and  see 
if  she  is  awake  now  ?  " 


106  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  No  !  I  think  not,  I  had  better  prepare  her.  You  will  come 
to-morrow,  won't  you  ?  and  you  will  tell  her  then." 

"  Yes ;  that  will  be  best.  I  ought  to  tell  Molly  first.  She  has  the 
right  to  know.     I  do  hope  you  and  she  will  love  each  other  dearly." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I'm  sure  we  shall.  Then  you'll  come  to-morrow  and 
tell  Lady  Cumnor  ?     And  I'll  prepare  her." 

"  I  don't  see  what  preparation  is  necessary;  but  j'ou  know  best, 
my  dear.     When  can  we  arrange  for  you  and  Molly  to  meet  ?  " 

Just  then  a  servant  came  in,  and  the  pair  started  apart. 

"  Her  ladyship  is  awake,  and  wishes  to  see  Mr.  Gibson." 

They  both  followed  the  man  upstairs  ;  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  trying 
hard  to  look  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  for  she  particularly  wished 
*'  to  prepare  "  Lady  Cumnor  ;  that  is  to  say,  to  give  her  version  of 
Mr.  Gibson's  extreme  urgency,  and  her  own  coy  unwillingness. 

But  Lady  Cumnor  had  observant  e5'es  in  sickness  as  well  as  in 
health.  She  had  gone  to  sleep  with  the  recollection  of  the  passage 
in  her  husband's  letter  full  in  her  mind,  and,  perhaps,  it  gave  a 
direction  to  her  wakening  ideas. 

"I'm   glad   you're  not   gone,    Mr.   Gibson.     I   wanted   to  tell 

you What's  the  matter  with  you  both  ?     What  have  you  been 

saying  to  Clare  ?     I'm  sure  something  has  happened." 

There  was  nothing  for  it,  in  Mr.  Gibson's  opinion,  but  to  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it,  and  tell  her  ladyship  all.  He  turned  round,  and 
took  hold  of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  hand,  and  said  out  straight,  "  I  have 
been  asking  Mrs.  Ivirkpatrick  to  be  my  wife,  and  to  be  a  mother  to 
my  child  ;  and  she  has  consented.  I  hardly  know  how  to  thank  her 
enough  in  words." 

"Umph!  I  don't  see  any  objection.  I  daresay  you'll  be  very 
happy.  I'm  very  glad  of  it !  Here  !  shake  hands  with  me,  both  of 
you."  Then  laughing  a  little,  she  added,  "  It  does  not  seem  to  me 
that  any  exertion  has  been  requii'ed  on  my  part." 

Mr.  Gibson  looked  perplexed  at  these  words.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick 
reddened. 

"  Did  she  not  tell  you  ?  Oh,  then,  I  must.  It's  too  good  a 
joke  to  be  lost,  especially  as  everj-thing  has  ended  so  well.  When 
Lord  Cumnor's  letter  came  this  morning — this  very  morning,  I  gave 
it  to  Clare  to  read  aloud  to  me,  and  I  saw  she  suddenly  came  to  a 
full  stop,  where  no  full  stop  could  be,  and  I  thought  it  was  something 
about  Agnes,  so  I  took  the  letter  and  read — stay !  I'll  read  the 
sentence  to  you.     Where's  the  letter,  Clare  ?     Oh !  don't  trouble 


A  CEISIS.  107 

yourself,  here  it  is.  *  How  are  Clare  and  Gibson  getting  on  ?  You 
despised  my  advice  to  help  on  that  affair,  but  I  really  think  a  little 
match-making  would  be  a  very  pleasant  amusement,  now  that  you 
are  shut  up  in  the  house  ;  and  I  cannot  conceive  any  marriage  moro 
suitable.'  You  see,  you  have  my  lord's  full  approbation.  But  I 
must  write,  and  tell  him  you  have  managed  your  own  affairs  without 
any  interference  of  mine.  Now  we'll  just  have  a  little  medical  talk, 
Mr.  Gibson,  and  then  you  and  Clare  shall  finish  your  tete-a-tete." 

They  were  neither  of  them  quite  as  desirous  of  further  conversa- 
tion together  as  they  had  been  before  the  passage  out  of  Lord 
Cumnor's  letter  had  been  read  aloud.  Mr.  Gibson  tried  not  to 
think  about  it,  for  he  was  aware  that  if  he  dwelt  upon  it,  he  might 
get  to  fancy  all  sorts  of  things,  as  to  the  conversation  which  had 
ended  in  his  offer.    But  Lady  Cumnor  was  imperious  now,  as  always. 

"  Come,  no  nonsense.  I  always  made  my  girls  go  and  have 
tete-a-tetes  with  the  men  who  were  to  be  their  husbands,  whether 
they  would  or  no  :  there's  a  great  deal  to  be  talked  over  before  every 
marriage,  and  you  two  are  certainly  old  enough  to  be  above  affecta- 
tion.    Go  away  with  you." 

So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  for  them  to  return  to  the  library  ; 
Mrs.  Erkpatrick  pouting  a  little,  and  Mr.  Gibson  feeling  more  like 
his  own  cool,  sarcastic  self,  by  many  degrees,  than  he  had  done 
when  last  in  that  room. 

She  began,  half  crying, — 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  poor  Kirkpatrick  would  say  if  he  knew  what 
I  have  done.  He  did  so  dislike  the  notion  of  second  marriages, 
poor  fellow." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  he  doesn't  know,  then  ;  or  that,  if  he  does, 
he  is  wiser — I  mean,  that  he  sees  how  second  marriages  may  be 
most  desirable  and  expedient  in  some  cases."  v 

Altogether,  this  second  tete-a-tete,  done  to  command,  was  not  so 
satisfactory  as  the  first;  and  Mr.  Gibson  was  quite  alive  to  the 
necessity  of  proceeding  on  his  round  to  see  his  patients  before  very 
much  time  had  elapsed. 

"  We  shall  shake  down  into  uniformity  before  long,  I've  no 
doubt,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  rode  away.  "It's  hardly  to  be 
expected  that  our  thoughts  should  run  in  the  same  groove  all  at 
once.  Nor  should  I  like  it,"  he  added.  "  It  would  be  very  flat  and 
stagnant  to  have  only  an  echo  of  one's  own  opinions  from  one's  wife. 
Heigho  !  I  must  tell  Molly  about  it :  dear  little  woman,  I  wonder 


108  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

how  she'll  take  it  ?  It's  done,  in  a  great  measure,  for  her  good." 
And  then  he  lost  himself  in  recapitulating  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  good 
qualities,  and  the  advantages  to  he  gained  to  his  daughter  from  the 
step  he  had  just  taken. 

It  was  too  late  to  go  round  hy  Hamley  that  afternoon.  The 
Towers  and  the  Towers'  round  lay  just  in  the  opposite  direction  to 
Hamley.  So  it  was  the  next  morning  hefore  Mr.  Gihson  arrived  at 
the  hall,  timing  his  visit  as  well  as  he  could  so  as  to  have  half-an- 
hour's  private  talk  with  Molly  hefore  Mrs.  Hamley  came  down  into 
the  drawing-room.  He  thought  that  his  daughter  would  require 
sympathy  after  receiving  the  intelligence  he  had  to  communicate  ; 
and  he  knew  there  was  no  one  more  fit  to  give  it  than  Mrs. 
Hamley. 

It  was  a  hrilliantly  hot  summer's  morning ;  men  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves were  in  the  fields  getting  in  the  early  harvest  of  oats  ;  as 
Mr.  Gihson  rode  slowly  along,  he  could  see  them  over  the  tall  hedge- 
rov.'S,  and  even  hear  the  soothing  measured  sound  of  the  fall  of  the 
long  swathes,  as  they  were  mown.  The  lahourers  seemed  too  hot  to 
talk ;  the  dog,  guarding  their  coats  and  cans,  lay  panting  loudly  on 
the  other  side  of  the  elm,  under  which  Mr.  Gibson  stopped  for  an 
instant  to  survey  the  scene,  and  gain  a  little  delay  hefore  the  inter- 
view that  he  wished  was  well  over.  In  another  minute  he  had 
snapped  at  himself  for  his  weakness,  and  put  spurs  to  his  horse. 
He  came  up  to  the  hall  at  a  good  sharp  trot ;  it  was  earlier  than  the 
usual  time  of  his  visits,  and  no  one  was  expecting  him  ;  all  the 
stahle-men  were  in  the  fields,  but  that  signified  little  to  Mr.  Gibson ; 
he  walked  his  horse  about  for  five  minutes  or  so  hefore  taking  him 
into  the  stable,  and  loosened  his  girths,  examining  him  with  perhaps 
unnecessary  exactitude.  He  went  into  the  house  by  a  private  door, 
and  made  his  way  into  the  drawing-room,  half  expecting,  however, 
that  Molly  would  be  in  the  garden.  She  had  been  there,  but  it  was 
too  hot  and  dazzling  now  for  her  to  remain  out  of  doors,  and  she 
had  come  in  by  the  open  window  of  the  drawing-room.  Oppressed 
with  the  heat,  she  had  fallen  asleep  in  an  easy-chair,  her  bonnet  and 
open  book  upon  her  knee,  one  arm  hanging  listlessly  down.  She 
looked  very  soft,  and  young,  and  childlike ;  and  a  gush  of  love 
sprang  into  her  father's  heart  as  he  gazed  at  her. 

"  Molly  !"  said  he,  gently,  taking  the  little  brown  hand  that  was 
hanging  down,  and  holding  it  in  his  own.     "  Molly  ! " 

She  opened  her  eyes,  that  for  one  moment  had  no  recognition  in 


A  CRISIS.  109 

them.  Then  the  light  came  brilliantly  into  them  and  she  sprang  up, 
and  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  exclaiming, — 

"  Oh,  papa,  my  dear,  dear  papa !  What  made  you  come  while  I 
was  asleep  '?     I  lose  the  pleasure  of  watching  for  you." 

Mr.  Gibson  turned  a  little  paler  than  he  had  been  before.  He 
still  held  her  hand,  and  drew  her  to  a  seat  by  him  on  a  sofa,  without 
speaking.     There  was  ho  need ;  she  was  chattering  away. 

"  I  was  up  so  early  !  It  is  so  charming  to  be  out  here  in  the 
fresh  morning  air.  I  think  that  made  me  sleepy.  But  isn't  it  a 
gloriously  hot  day  ?  I  wonder  if  the  Italian  skies  they  talk  about 
can  be  bluer  than  that — that  little  bit  you  see  just  between  the  oaks 
—there  ! " 

She  pulled  her  hand  away,  and  used  both  it  and  the  other  to 
turn  her  father's  head,  so  that  he  should  exactly  see  the  very  bit 
she  meant.     She  was  rather  struck  by  his  unusual  silence. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Miss  Eyre,  papa  ?  How  are  they  all  ? 
And  this  fever  that  is  about  ?  Do  you  know,  papa,  I  don't  think 
you  are  looking  well?  You  want  me  at  home  to  take  care  of  you. 
How  soon  may  I  come  heme  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  look  well  ?     That  must  be  all  your  fancy,  goosey.     I 

feel  uncommonly  well  ;  and  I  ought  to  look  well,  for •     I  have  a 

piece  of  news  for  you,  little  woman."  (He  felt  that  he  was  doin"  his 
business  very  awkwardly,  but  he  was  determined  to  plunge  on.) 
"  Can  you  guess  it  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  ?  "  said  she  ;  but  her  tone  was  changed,  and  she 
was  evidently  uneasy,  as  with  the  presage  of  an  instinct. 

*'  "Why,  you  see,  my  love,"  said  he,  again  taking  her  hand,  "that 
you  are  in  a  very  awkward  position — a  girl  growing  up  in  such  a 
family  as  mine — young  men — which  was  a  piece  of  confounded 
stupidity  on  my  part.     And  I  am  obliged  to  be  away  so  much." 

"  But  there  is  Miss  Eyre,"  said  she,  sick  with  the  strengthening 
indefinite  presage  of  what  was  to  come.  "  Dear  Miss  Eyre,  I  want 
nothing  but  her  and  you." 

"  Still  there  are  times  like  the  present  when  Miss  Eyre  cannot 
be  with  you  ;  her  home  is  not  with  us  ;  she  has  other  duties.  I've 
been  in  great  pei-plexity  for  some  time  ;  but  at  last  I've  taken  a  step 
which  will,  I  hope,  make  us  both  happier," 

"You're  going  to  be  married  again,"  said  she,  helping  him  out, 
with  a  quiet  dry  voice,  and  gently  drawing  her  hand  out  of  his. 

"Yes.     To  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick — ^you  remember  her?     They  call 


110  WIVES  AXD  DAUGHTERS. 

her  Clare  at  the  Towers.  You  recollect  how  kind  she  was  to  you 
that  day  you  were  left  there  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  She  could  not  tell  what  words  to  use.  She 
was  afraid  of  saying  anything,  lest  the  passion  of  anger,  dislike, 
indignation — whatever  it  was  that  was  boiling  up  in  her  breast — 
should  find  vent  in  cries  and  screams,  or  worse,  in  raging  words  that 
could  never  be  forgotten.  It  was  as  if  the  piece  of  solid  ground  on 
which  she  stood  had  broken  from  the  shore,  and  she  was  drifting  out 
to  the  infinite  sea  alone. 

Mr.  Gibson  saw  that  her  silence  was  unnatural,  and  half-guessed 
at  the  cause  of  it.  But  he  knew  that  she  must  have  time  to  reconcile 
herself  to  the  idea,  and  still  believed  that  it  would  be  for  her  eventual 
happiness.  He  had,  besides,  the  relief  of  feeling  that  the  secret  was 
told,  the  confidence  made,  which  he  had  been  di'eading  for  the  last 
iwenty-four  hours.  He  went  on  recapitulating  all  the  advantages  of 
the  marriage  ;  he  knew  them  off  by  heart  now. 

"  She's  a  very  suitable  age  for  me.  I  don't  know  how  old  she  is 
exactly,  but  she  must  be  nearly  forty.  I  shouldn't  have  wished  to 
marry  any  one  younger.  She's  highly  respficted  by  Lord  and  Lady 
Cumuor  and  their  family,  which  is  of  itself  a  character.  She  has 
very  agreeable  and  polished  manners — of  course,  from  the  circles 
she  has  been  thrown  into — and  you  and  I,  goosey,  are  apt  to  be  a 
little  brusque,  or  so  ;  we  must  brush  up  our  manners  now." 

No  remark  from  her  on  this  little  bit  of  playfulness.  He 
went  on, — 

"  She  has  been  accustomed  to  housekeeping — economical  house- 
keeping, too — for  of  late  years  she  has  had  a  school  at  Ashcombe, 
and  has  had,  of  course,  to  arrange  all  things  for  a  large  family. 
And  last,  but  not  least,  she  has  a  daughter — about  your  age,  Molly 
— who,  of  course,  will  come  and  live  with  us,  and  be  a  nice  com- 
panion— a  sister — for  you." 

Still  she  was  silent.     At  length  she  said, — 

"  So  I  was  sent  out  of  the  house  that  all  this  might  be  quietly 
arranged  in  my  absence  ?" 

Out  of  the  bitterness  of  her  heart  she  spoke,  but  she  was  roused 
out  of  her  assumed  impassiveness  by  the  effect  produced.  Her  father 
started  up,  and  quickly  left  the  room,  saying  something  to  himself 
— what,  she  could  not  hear,  though  she  ran  after  him,  followed  him 
through  dark  stone  passages,  into  the  glare  of  the  stable-yard,  into 
the  stables — 


A  CRISIS.  Ill 

"  Oh,  papa,  papa — I'm  not  myself — I  don't  know  what  to  say 
ahout  this  hateful — detestable " 

He  led  his  horse  out.  She  did  not  know  if  he  heard  her  word. 
Just  as  he  mounted,  he  turned  round  upon  her  with  a  grey  grim 
face — 

"  I  think  it's  better  for  both  of  us,  for  me  to  go  away  now.  We 
may  say  things  difficult  to  forget.  We  are  both  much  agitated.  By 
to-morrow  we  shall  be  more  composed  ;  you  will  have  thought  it 
over,  and  seen  that  the  principal — one  great  motive,  I  mean — was 
your  good.  You  may  tell  Mrs.  Hamley — I  meant  to  have  told  her 
myself.     I  will  come  again  to-morrow.     Good-by,  Molly." 

For  many  minutes  after  he  had  ridden  away — long  after  the 
sound  of  his  horse's  hoofs  on  the  round  stones  of  the  paved  lane, 
beyond  the  home-meadows,  had  died  away — Molly  stood  there, 
shading  her  eyes,  and  looking  at  the  empty  space  of  air  in  which  his 
form  had  last  appeared.  Her  very  breath  seemed  suspended  ;  only, 
two  or  three  times,  after  long  intervals,  she  drew  a  miserable  sigh, 
which  was  caught  up  into  a  sob.  She  turned  away  at  last,  but 
could  not  go  into  the  house,  could  not  tell  Mrs.  Hamley,  could  not 
forget  how  her  father  had  looked  and  spoken — and  left  her. 

She  went  out  through  a  side-door — it  was  the  way  by  which  the 
gardeners  passed  when  they  took  the  manure  into  the  garden — and 
the  walk  to  which  it  led  was  concealed  from  sight  as  much  as 
possible  by  shrubs  and  evergreens  and  over-arching  trees.  No  one 
would  know  what  became  of  her — and,  with  the  ingratitude  of  misery, 
she  added  to  herself,  no  one  would  care.  Mrs.  Hamley  had  her  own 
husband,  her  own  childi-en,  her  close  home  interests — she  was  very 
good  and  kind,  but  there  was  a  bitter  grief  in  Molly's  heart,  with 
which  the  stranger  could  not  intermeddle.  She  went  quickly  on  to 
the  bourne  which  she  had  fixed  for  herself — a  seat  almost  sur- 
rounded  by  the  drooping  leaves  of  a  weeping-ash — a  seat  on  the 
long  broad  ten-ace  walk  on  the  other  side  of  the  wood,  that  over- 
looked the  pleasant  slope  of  the  meadows  beyond.  The  walk  had 
probably  been  made  to  command  this  sunny,  peaceful  landscape, 
with  trees,  and  a  church  spire,  two  or  three  red-tiled  roofs  of  old 
cottages,  and  a  puii^le  bit  of  rising  gi'ound  in  the  distance  ;  and  at 
some  previous  date,  when  there  might  have  been  a  large  family  of 
Hamleys  residing  at  the  Hall,  ladies  in  hoops,  and  gentlemen  in 
bag-wigs  with  swords  by  their  sides,  might  have  filled  up  the  breadth 
of  the  terrace,  as  they  sauntered,  smiling,  along.     But  no  one  ever 


112  WIVES  AKD   DAUGHTERS. 

cared  to  saunter  there  now.  It  -n-as  a  desei-tecl  walk.  The  squire  or 
his  sons  might  cross  it  in  passing  to  a  little  gate  that  led  to  the 
meadow  heyond  ;  but  no  one  loitered  there.  Molly  almost  thought 
that  no  one  knew  of  the  hidden  seat  under  the  ash -tree  but  herself; 
for  there  were  not  more  gardeners  employed  upon  the  grounds  than 
were  necessary  to  keep  the  kitchen-gardens  and  such  of  the  orna- 
mental part  as  was  frequented  by  the  family,  or  in  sight  of  the  house, 
in  good  order. 

When  she  had  once  got  to  the  seat  she  broke  out  with  sup- 
pressed passion  of  grief.  She  did  not  care  to  analyze  the  sources  of 
her  tears  and  sobs — her  father  was  going  to  be  married  again — her 
father  was  angiy  with  her;  she  had  done  very  wrong — he  had  gone 
away  displeased  ;  she  had  lost  his  love  ;  he  was  going  to  be  married 
— away  from  her — away  from  his  child — his  little  daughter — for- 
getting her  own  dear,  dear  mother.  So  she  thought  in  a  tumultuous 
kind  of  way,  sobbing  till  she  was  v/earied  out,  and  had  to  gain 
strength  by  being  quiet  for  a  time,  to  break  forth  into  her  passion  of 
tears  afresh.  She  had  cast  herself  on  the  ground — that  natural 
throne  for  violent  sorrow — and  leant  up  against  the  old  moss-grown 
seat ;  sometimes  burying  her  face  in  her  hands  ;  sometimes  clasping 
them  together,  as  if  by  the  tight  painful  grasp  of  her  fingers  she 
could  deaden  mental  suflferiug. 

She  did  not  see  Roger  Hamley  returning  from  the  meadows,  nor 
hear  the  click  of  the  little  white  gate.  He  had  been  out  dredging  in 
ponds  and  ditches,  and  had  his  wet  sling-net,  with  its  imprisoned 
treasures  of  uastiness,  over  his  shoulder.  He  was  coming  home  to 
hmch,  having  always  a  fine  midday  appetite,  though  he  pretended  to 
despise  the  meal  in  theory.  But  he  knew  that  his  mother  liked  his 
companionship  then  ;  she  depended  much  upon  her  luncheon,  and 
was  seldom  downstairs  and  visible  to  her  family  much  before  the 
time.  So  he  overcame  his  theory,  for  the  sake  of  his  mother,  and 
had  his  reward  in  the  hearty  relish  with  which  he  kept  her  company 
in  eating. 

He  did  not  see  Molly  as  he  crossed  the  terrace-walk  on  his  way 
homewards.  He  had  gone  about  twenty  yai'ds  along  the  small  wood- 
path  at  right  angles  to  the  terrace,  when,  looking  among  the  grass 
and  wild  plants  under  the  trees,  he  spied  out  one  which  was  rare, 
one  which  he  had  been  long  wishing  to  find  in  flower,  and  saw  it  at 
last,  with  those  bright  keen  eyes  of  his.  Down  went  his  net, 
skilfully  twisted  so  as  to  retain  its  contents,  while  it  lay  amid  the 


A  CRISIS.  113 

herbage,  and  he  himself  went  with  light  aud  well-planted  footsteps  in 
search  of  the  treasure.  Ho  was  so  great  a  lover  of  nature  that, 
•without  any  thought,  but  habitually,  he  always  avoided  treading 
unnecessarily  on  any  plant ;  who  knew  what  long-sought  growth 
or  insect  might  develop  itself  in  that  which  now  appeared  but 
insignificant  ? 

His  steps  led  him  in  the  direction  of  the  ash-trco  seat,  much 
less  screened  from  observation  on  this  side  than  on  the  terrace.  Ho 
stopped ;  he  saw  a  light-coloured  dress  on  the  ground — somebody 
half-lying  on  the  seat,  so  still  just  then,  he  wondered  if  the  person, 
whoever  it  was,  had  fallen  ill  or  fainted.  He  paused  to  watch.  In 
a  minute  or  two  the  sobs  broke  out  again — the  words.  It' was  Miss 
Gibson  crying  in  a  broken  voice, — 

"  Oh,  papa,  papa  !  if  you  would  but  come  back !  " 

For  a  minute  or  two  he  thought  it  would  be  kinder  to  leave  her 
fixucying  herself  unobserved ;  he  had  even  made  a  retrograde  step 
or  two,  on  tip-toe  ;  but  then  he  heard  the  miserable  sobbing  again. 
It  was  farther  than  his  mother  could  walk,  or  else,  be  the  sorrow 
what  it  would,  she  was  the  natural  comforter  of  this  girl,  her  visitor. 
However,  whether  it  was  right  or  wrong,  delicate  or  obtrusive,  when 
he  heard  the  sad  voice  talking  again,  in  such  tones  of  uncomforted, 
lonely  misery,  he  turned  back,  and  went  to  the  green  tent  under  the 
ash-tree.  She  started  up  when  he  came  thus  close  to  her  ;  she  tried 
to  check  her  sobs,  and  instinctively  smoothed  her  wet  tangled  hair 
back  with  her  hands. 

He  looked  down  upon  her  with  grave,  kind  sympathy,  but  he  did 
not  know  exactly  what  to  say. 

"Is  it  lunch-time  ?  "  said  she,  trying  to  believe  that  he  did  not 
see  the  traces  of  her  tears  and  the  disturbance  of  her  features — that 
he  had  not  seen  her  lying,  sobbing  her  heart  out  there. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  was  going  home  to  lunch.  But — vou  must  let 
me  say  it — I  couldn't  go  on  when  I  saw  your  distress.  Has  anything 
happened  ? — anything  in  which  I  can  help  you,  I  mean  ;  for,  of 
course,  I've  no  right  to  make  the  inquiiy,  if  it  is  any  private  sorrow, 
in  which  I  can  be  of  no  use." 

She  had  exhausted  herself  so  much  with  crying,  that  she  felt  as 
if  she  could  neither  stand  nor  walk  just  yet.  She  sate  down  on  the 
seat,  and  sighed,  and  turned  so  pale,  he"^  thought  she  was  going  to 
faint. 

*'  Wait  a  moment,"  said  he,  quite  unnecessarily,  for  she  could 
Vol.  I.  8 


114  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

not  have  stirred  ;  and  lie  was  off  like  a  shot  to  some  spring  of  water 
that  he  knew  of  in  the  wood,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  he  returned 
with  careful  steps,  bringing  a  little  in  a  broad  green  leaf,  turned  inta 
an  impromptu  cup.     Little  as  it  was,  it  did  her  good. 

"  Thank  j'ou  !  "  she  said:  "  I  can  walk  back  now,  in  a  short 
time.     Don't  stop." 

"  You  must  let  me,"  said  he  :  "  my  mother  wouldn't  like  me  to 
leave  you  to  come  home  alone,  while  you  are  so  faint." 

So  they  remained  in  silence  for  a  little  while  ;  he,  breaking  off' 
and  examining  one  or  two  abnormal  leaves  of  the  ash-tree,  partly 
from  the  custom  of  his  nature,  partly  to  give  her  time  to  recover. 

"  Papa  is  going  to  be  married  again,"  said  she,  at  length. 

She  could  not  have  said  why  she  told  him  this  ;  an  instant  before 
she  spoke,  she  had  no  intention  of  doing  so.  He  dropped  the  leaf 
he  held  in  his  hand,  turned  round,  and  looked  at  her.  Her  poor 
wistful  eyes  were  filling  with  tears  as  they  met  his,  with  a  dumb 
appeal  for  sympathy.  Her  look  was  much  more  eloquent  than  her 
words.  There  was  a  momentary  pause  before  he  replied,  and  then 
it  was  more  because  he  felt  that  he  must  say  something  than  that  he 
was  in  any  doubt  as  to  the  answer  to  the  question  he  asked. 

' '  You  are  sorry  for  it  ?  " 

She  did  not  take  her  eyes  away  from  his,  as  her  quivering  lips 
formed  the  word  "  Yes,"  though  her  voice  made  no  sound.  He  was 
silent  again  now ;  looking  on  the  ground,  kicking  softly  at  a  loose 
pebble  with  his  foot.  His  thoughts  did  not  come  readily  to  the 
surface  in  the  shape  of  words  ;  nor  was  he  apt  at  giving  comfort  till 
he  saw  his  way  clear  to  the  real  source  from  which  consolation  must 
come.  At  last  he  spoke, — almost  as  if  he  was  reasoning  out  the 
matter  with  himself. 

"  It  seems  as  if  there  might  be  cases  where — setting  the  question 
of  love  entirely  on  one  side — it  must  be  almost  a  duty  to  find  some 
one  to  be  a  substitute  for  the  mother.  ...  I  can  believe,"  said  he, 
in  a  difierent  tone  of  voice,  and  looking  at  Molly  afresh,  "that  this 
step  may  be  greatly  for  your  father's  happiness — it  may  relieve  him 
from  many  cares,  and  may  give  him  a  pleasant  companion." 

"  He  had  me.  You  don't  know  what  we  were  to  each  other — at 
least,  what  he  was  to  me,"  she  added,  humbly. 

"  Still  he  must  have  thought  it  for  the  best,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  done  it.  He  may  have  thought  it  the  best  for  your  sake  even 
more  than  for  his  o\vu." 


A  CllISIS.  115 

*'  That  is  what  he  tried  to  convince  me  of." 

Roger  began  kicking  the  pebble  again.  He  had  not  got  hold  of 
the  right  end  of  the  clue.     Suddenly  he  looked  up. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  of  a  girl  I  know.  Her  mother  died  when 
she  was  about  sixteen — the  eldest  of  a  large  family.  From  that 
time — all  through  the  bloom  of  her  youth — she  gave  herself  up  to 
her  father,  first  as  his  comforter,  afterwards  as  his  companion,  friend, 
secretary — anything  you  like.  He  was  a  man  with  a  great  deal  of 
business  on  hand,  and  often  came  home  only  to  set  to  afresh  to  pre- 
parations for  the  next  day's  work.  Harriet  was  always  there,  ready 
to  help,  to  talk,  or  to  be  silent.  It  went  on  for  eight  or  ten  years 
in  this  way ;  and  then  her  father  married  again, — a  woman  not  many 
years  older  than  Harriet  herself.  Well — they  are  just  the  happiest 
set  of  people  I  know — you  wouldn't  have  thought  it  likely,  would 
you  ?  " 

She  was  listening,  but  she  had  no  heart  to  say  anything.  Yet 
she  was  interested  in  this  little  story  of  Harriet — a  girl  who  had 
been  so  much  to  her  father,  more  than  Molly  in  this  early  youth  of 
hers  could  have  been  to  Mr.  Gibson.  "  How  was  it  ?  "  she  sighed 
out  at  last. 

"  Harriet  thought  of  her  father's  happiness  before  she  thought 
of  her  own,"  Roger  answered,  with  something  of  severe  brevity. 
Molly  needed  the  bracing.     She  began  to  cry  again  a  little. 

"  If  it  were  for  papa's  happiness " 

"  He  must  believe  that  it  is.  Whatever  you  fancy,  give  him  a 
chance.  He  cannot  have  much  comfort,  I  should  think,  if  he  sees 
you  fretting  or  pining,' — you  who  have  been  so  much  to  him,  as  you 
say.  The  lady  herself,  too — if  Harriet's  stepmother  had  been  a 
selfish  woman,  and  been  always  clutching  after  the  gratification  of 
her  own  wishes  ;  but  she  was  not :  she  was  as  anxious  for  Harriet 
to  be  happy  as  Harriet  was  for  her  father — and  your  father's  future 
wife  may  be  another  of  the  same  kind,  though  such  people  are 
rare." 

"  I  don't  think  she  is,  though,"  murmured  Molly,  a  waft  of 
recollection  bringing  to  her  mind  the  details  of  her  day  at  the  Towers 
long  ago. 

Roger  did  not  want  to  hear  Molly's  reasons  for  this  doubting 
speech.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  no  right  to  hear  more  of  Mr.  Gibson's 
family  life,  past,  present,  or  to  come,  than  was  absolutely  necessary 
for  him,  in  order  that  he  might  comfort  and  help  the  crying  girl, 

R— 2 


IIG  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

whom  lie  bad  come  upon  so  unexpectedly.  And  besides,  lie  wanted 
to  go  home,  and  be  with  his  mother  at  lunch-time.  Yet  he  could 
not  leave  her  alone. 

"  It  is  right  to  hope  for  the  best  about  everybod)',  and  not  to 
expect  the  worst.  This  sounds  like  a  truism,  but  it  has  comforted 
me  before  now,  and  some  day  you'll  find  it  useful.  One  has  always 
to  try  to  think  more  of  others  than  of  oneself,  and  it  is  best  not  to 
prejudge  people  on  the  bad  side.  My  sermons  aren't  long,  are  they? 
Have  they  given  you  an  appetite  for  lunch  ?  Sermons  always  make 
me  hungry,  I  know." 

He  appeared  to  be  waiting  for  her  to  get  up  and  come  along  with 
him,  as  indeed  he  was.  But  he  meant  her  to  perceive  that  he  should 
not  leave  her ;  so  she  rose  up  languidly,  too  languid  to  say  how 
much  she  should  prefer  being  left  alone,  if  he  would  only  go  away 
without  her.  She  was  very  weak,  and  stumbled  over  the  straggling 
root  of  a  tree  that  projected  across  the  path.  He,  watchful  though 
silent,  saw  this  stumble,  and  putting  out  his  hand  held  her  up  from 
falling.  He  still  held  her  hand  when  the  occasion  was  past ;  this 
little  physical  failure  impressed  on  his  heart  how  young  and  helpless 
she  was,  and  he  yearned  to  her,  remembering  the  passion  of  sorrow 
in  which  he  had  found  her,  and  longing  to  be  of  some  little  tender 
bit  of  comfort  to  her,  before  they  parted — before  their  tete-a-tete 
walk  was  merged  in  the  general  familiarity  of  the  household  life. 
Yet  he  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"  You  will  have  thought  me  hard,"  he  burst  out  at  length,  as 
they  were  nearing  the  drawing-room  windows  and  the  garden-door. 
"  I  never  can  manage  to  express  wliat  I  feel — somehow  I  always  fall 
to  philosophizing — but  I  am  sorry  far  you.  Yes,  I  am  ;  it's  beyond 
my  power  to  help  you,  as  far  as  altering  facts  goes,  but  I  can  feel  for 
you,  in  a  way  which  it's  best  not  to  talk  about,  for  it  oan  do  no  good. 
Remember  how  sorry  I  am  for  you  !  I  shall  often  be  thinking  of  you, 
though  I  daresay  it's  best  not  to  talk  about  it  again." 

She  said,  "  I  know  you  are  sorry,"  under  her  breath,  and  then 
she  broke  away,  and  ran  indoors,  and  upstairs  to  the  solitude  of  her 
own  room.  He  went  straight  to  his  mother,  who  was  sitting  before 
the  untastcd  luncheon,  as  much  annoyed  by  the  mysterious  un- 
punctuality  of  her  visitor  as  she  was  capable  of  being  with  anything  ; 
for  she  had  heard  that  Mr.  Gibson  had  been,  and  was  gone,  and  she 
could  not  discover  if  he  had  left  any  message  for  her  ;  and  her  anxiety 
about  her  own  health,  which  some  people  esteemed  hypochondriacal, 


A  CRISIS.  117 

always  made  her  particularly  craving  for  the  wisdom  which  might  fall 
from  her  doctor's  lips. 

"  Where  have  you  heeu,  lloger  ?  Where  is  Molly  ? — Miss  Gib- 
son, I  mean,"  for  she  was  careful  to  keep  up  a  harrier  of  fonns 
between  the  young  man  and  young  woman  who  were  thrown  together 
in  the  same  household. 

"  I've  been  out  dredging.  (By  the  way,  I  left  my  net  on  the 
terrace  walk.)  I  found  Miss  Gibson  sitting  there,  crying  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.     Her  fiither  is  going  to  be  married  again." 

"  Married  again  !     You  don't  say  so." 

"  Yes,  he  is  ;  and  she  takes  it  very  hardly,  poor  girl.  Mother, 
I  think  if  you  could  send  some  one  to  her  with  a  glass  of  wine,  a  cup 
of  tea,  or  something  of  that  sort — she  was  very  nearly  fainting " 

"  I'll  go  to  her  myself,  poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Hamley,  rising. 

"  Indeed  you  must  not,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  arm, 
"  We  have  kept  you  waiting  already  too  long ;  you  are  looking  quite 
pale.  Hammond  can  take  it,"  he  continued,  ringing  the  bell.  She 
sate  down  again,  almost  stunned  with  suq)rise. 

"  Whom  is  he  going  to  marry  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  didn't  ask,  and  she  didn't  tell  me." 

"  That's  so  like  a  man.  Why,  half  the  character  of  the  affiiir  lies 
m  the  question  of  who  it  is  that  he  is  going  to  marry," 

"  I  daresay  I  ought  to  have  asked.  But  somehow  I'm  not  a 
good  one  on  such  occasions.  I  was  as  sony  as  could  be  for  her,  and 
yet  I  couldn't  tell  what  to  say." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  gave  her  the  best  advice  in  my  power." 

"  Advice  !  you  ought  to  have  comforted  her.  Poor  little 
Molly !  " 

"  I  think  that  if  advice  is  good  it's  the  best  comfort."  v 

"  That  depends  on  what  you  mean  by  advice.  Hush  !  hero 
she  is." 

To  their  surprise,  Molly  came  in,  trying  hard  to  look  as  usual. 
She  had  bathed  her  eyes,  and  arranged  her  hair ;  and  was  making  a 
great  struggle  to  keep  from  crying,  and  to  bring  her  voice  into  order. 
She  was  unwilling  to  distress  Mrs.  Hamley  by  the  sight  of  pain  and 
suffering.  She  did  not  know  that  she  was  following  Roger's  in- 
junction to  think  more  of  others  than  of  herself — but  so  she  was. 
Mrs.  Hamley  was  not  sure  if  it  was  wise  in  her  to  begin  on  the  piece 
of  news  she  had  just  heard  from  her  son ;  but  she  was  too  full  of  it 


118  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

herself  to  talk  of  anything  else.  "  So  I  hear  your  father  is  going  to 
be  married,  my  dear  ?     May  I  ask  whom  it  is  to  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Kirkpatriek.  I  think  she  was  governess  a  long  time  ago 
at  the  Countess  of  Cumnor's.  She  stays  with  them  a  great  deal, 
and  they  call  her  Clare,  and  I  believe  they  are  very  fond  of  her." 
Molly  tried  to  speak  of  her  future  stepmother  in  the  most  favourable 
manner  she  knew  how. 

"  I  think  I've  heard  of  her.  Then  she  is  not  veiy  young  ? 
That's  as  it  should  be.     A  widow  too.     Has  she  any  family  ?" 

"  One  girl,  I  believe.     But  I  know  so  little  about  her  ! " 

Molly  was  very  near  crying  again. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear.  That  will  all  come  in  good  time. 
Eoger,  you've  hardly  eaten  anything ;  where  are  you  going  ?" 

"  To  fetch  my  dredging-net.  It's  full  of  things  I  don't  want  to 
lose.  Besides,  I  never  eat  much,  as  a  general  thing."  The  truth 
was  partly  told,  not  all.  He  thought  he  had  better  leave  the  other 
two  alone.  His  mother  had  such  sweet  power  of  sympathy,  that  she 
would  draw  the  sting  out  of  the  girl's  heart  in  a  tete-a-tete.  As 
soon  as  he  was  gone,  Molly  lifted  up  her  poor  swelled  eyes,  and, 
looking  at  Mrs.  Hamley,  she  said, — "  He  was  so  good  to  me.  I 
mean  to  try  and  remember  all  he  said." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  love  ;  very  glad.  From  what  he  told  me,  I 
was  afraid  he  had  been  giving  j'ou  a  little  lecture.  He  has  a  good 
heart,  but  he  isn't  so  tender  in  his  manner  as  Osborne.  Koger  is  a 
little  rough  sometimes." 

"  Then  I  like  roughness.  It  did  me  good.  It  made  me  feel 
how  badly — oh,  Mrs.  Hamley,  I  did  behave  so  badly  to  papa  this 
morning." 

She  rose  up  and  threw  herself  into  Mrs.  Hamley's  arms,  and 
sobbed  upon  her  breast.  Her  sorrow  was  not  now  for  the  fact  that 
her  father  was  going  to  be  married  again,  but  for  her  own  ill- 
behaviour. 

If  Roger  was  not  tender  in  words,  he  was  in  deeds.  Unreasonably 
and  possibly  exaggerated  as  Molly's  grief  had  appeared  to  him,  it 
was  real  sufiering  to  her ;  and  he  took  some  pains  to  lighten  it,  in 
his  o^vTi  way,  which  was  characteristic  enough.  That  evening  he 
adjusted  his  microscope,  and  put  the  treasures  he  had  collected  in 
his  morning's  ramble  on  a  little  table  ;  and  then  he  asked  his  mother 
to  come  and  admire.  Of  course  Molly  came  too,  and  this  was  what 
he  had  intended.     He  tried  to  interest  her  in  his  pursuit,  cherished 


A  cmsis.  119 

her  first  little  morsel  of  curiosity,  aud  nursed  it  into  a  very  proper 
desire  for  further  information.  Then  he  brought  out  hooks  on  the 
subject,  and  translated  the  slightly  pompous  and  technical  language 
into  homely  every-day  speech.  Molly  had  come  down  to  dinner, 
wondering  how  the  long  hours  till  bedtime  would  ever  pass  away : 
hours  during  which  she  must  not  speak  on  the  one  thing  that 
would  be  occupying  her  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others ;  for  she 
was  afi-aid  that  already  she  had  wearied  Mrs.  Hamley  with  it  during 
their  afternoon  tete-d-tete.  But  prayers  and  bedtime  came  long 
before  she  expected ;  she  had  been  refreshed  by  a  new  current  of 
thought,  and  she  was  very  thankful  to  Eoger.  Aud  now  there  was 
to-morrow  to  come,  and  a  confession  of  penitence  to  be  made  to  her 
father. 

But  Mr.  Gibson  did  not  want  speech  or  words.  He  was  not 
fond  of  expressions  of  feeling  at  any  time,  and  perhaps,  too,  he  felt 
that  the  less  said  the  better  on  a  subject  about  which  it  was  evident 
that  his  daughter  and  he  were  not  thoroughly  and  impulsively  in 
harmony.  He  read  her  repentance  in  her  eyes ;  he  saw  how  much 
she  had  suffered ;  and  he  had  a  sharp  pang  at  his  heart  in  consequence. 
And  he  stopped  her  from  speaking  out  her  regret  at  her  behaviour 
the  day  before,  by  a  "  There,  there,  that  will  do.  I  know  all  you 
want  to  say.  I  know  my  little  Molly — my  silly  little  goosey — better 
than  she  knows  herself.  I've  brought  you  an  invitation.  Lady 
Cumnor  wants  you  to  go  and  spend  next  Thursday  at  the  Towers ! " 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  ?  "  said  she,  her  heart  sinking. 

"  I  wish  you  and  Hyacinth  to  become  better  acquainted — to  learn 
to  love  each  other." 

"  Hyacinth  ! "  said  Molly,  entirely  bewildered. 

"  Yes  ;  Hyacinth  !  It's  the  silliest  name  I  ever  heard  of;  but 
it's  hers,  and  I  must  call  her  by  it.  I  can't  bear  Clare,  vhich 
is  what  my  lady  and  all  the  family  at  the  Towers  call  her ;  and 
'  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick '  is  formal  and  nonsensical  too,  as  she'll  change 
her  name  so  soon." 

"  When,  papa  ?"  asked  Molly,  feeling  as  if  she  were  living  in  a 
strange,  unknown  world. 

"  Not  till  after  Michaelmas."  And  then,  continuing  on  his  own 
thoughts,  he  added,  "And  the  worst  is,  she's  gone  and  perpetuated 
her  own  affected  name  by  having  her  daughter  called  after  her. 
Cynthia  !  One  thinks  of  the  moon,  and  the  man  in  the  moon  with 
his  bundle  of  faggots.     I'm  thankful  you're  plain  Molly,  child." 


120  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

*'  How  old  is  she — Cyntliia,  I  mean  ?" 

"Ay,  get  accustomed  to  the  name.  I  should  think  Cynthia 
Kirkpatrick  was  about  as  old  as  you  are.  She's  at  school  in  France, 
picking  up  airs  and  graces.  She's  to  come  home  for  the  wedding,  so 
you'll  he  able  to  get  acquainted  with  her  then  ;  though,  I  think,  she's 
to  go  back  again  for  another  half-year  or  so." 


(     121     ) 


CIL^PTER  XI. 

MAKING  FRIENDSHIP. 

Mr.  Gibson  believed  that  C\Titliia  Kirkpatrick  was  to  return  to 
England  to  be  present  at  her  mother's  wedding  ;  but  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick 
had  no  such  intention.  She  was  not  what  is  commonly  called  a 
woman  of  determination  ;  but  somehow  what  she  disliked  she  avoided, 
and  what  she  liked  she  tried  to  do,  or  to  have.  So  although  in  the 
conversation,  which  she  had  already  led  to,  as  to  the  when  and  the 
how  she  was  to  be  mamed,  she  had  listened  quietly  to  Mr.  Gibson's 
proposal  that  Molly  and  Cynthia  should  be  the  two  bridesmaids,  still 
she  had  felt  how  disagreeable  it  would  be  to  her  to  have  her  young 
daughter  flashing  out  her  beauty  by  the  side  of  the  faded  bride,  her 
mother ;  and  as  the  further  arrangements  for  the  wedding  became 
more  definite,  she  saw  further  reasons  in  her  own  mind  for  Cynthia's 
remaining  quietly  at  her  school  at  Boulogne. 

Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  had  gone  to  bed  that  first  night  of  her  engage- 
ment to  Mr.  Gibson,  fully  anticipating  a  speedy  mamage.  She 
looked  to  it  as  a  release  from  the  thraldom  of  keeping  school ;  keeping 
an  unprofitable  school,  with  barely  pupils  enough  to  pay  for  house- 
rent  and  taxes,  food,  washing,  and  the  requisite  masters.  She^aw 
no  reason  for  ever  going  back  to  Ashcombe,  except  to  wind  up  her 
afiairs,  and  to  pack  up  her  clothes.  She  hoped  that  Mr.  Gibson's 
ardour  would  be  such  that  he  would  press  on  the  marriage,  and  urge 
her  never  to  resume  her  school  drudgeiy,  but  to  relinquish  it  now  and 
for  ever.  She  even  made  up  a  very  pretty,  very  passionate  speech 
for  him  in  her  own  mind  ;  quite  sufficiently  strong  to  prevail  upon 
her,  and  to  overthrow  the  scruples  which  she  felt  she  ought  to  have, 
at  telling  the  parents  of  her  pupils  that  she  did  not  intend  to  resume 
school,  and  that  they  must  find  another  place  of  education  for  their 
daughters,  in  the  last  week  but  one  of  the  midsummer  holidays. 


122  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

It  was  rather  like  a  douche  of  cokl  water  on  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's 
plans,  when  the  next  morning  at  breakfast  Lady  Cumnor  began  to 
decide  upon  the  arrangements  and  duties  of  the  two  middle-aged 
lovers. 

"  Of  course  you  can't  give  up  j'our  school  all  at  once,  Clare. 
The  wedding  can't  be  before  Christmas,  but  that  will  do  very  well. 
We  shall  all  be  down  at  the  Towers  ;  and  it  will  be  a  nice  amusement 
for  the  children  to  go  over  to  Ashcombe,  and  see  you  married." 

"I  think — I  am  afraid — I  don't  believe  Mr.  Gibson  will  like 
waiting  so  long  ;  men  are  so  impatient  under  these  circumstances." 

"  Oh,   nonsense  !    Lord   Cumnor  has  recommended  you  to  his 
tenants,  and  I'm  sure  he  wouldn't  like  them  to  be  put  to  any  incon-  » 
venience.     Mr.  Gibson  will  see  that  in  a  moment.     He's  a  man  of 
sense,  or  else  he  wouldn't  be  our  family  doctor.     Now,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  your  little  girl  ?     Have  you  fixed  yet  ?" 

"No.     Yesterday  there  seemed  so  little  time,  and  when  one  is 
agitated  it  is  so  difficult  to  think   of  anything.     Cynthia  is  nearly 
eighteen,  old  enough  to  go  out  as  a  governess,  if  he  wishes  it,  but  I  . 
don't  think  he  will.     He  is  so  generous  and  kind." 

'•  Well !  I  must  give  you  time  to  settle  some  of  your  affairs  to- 
day. Don't  waste  it  in  sentiment,  you're  too  old  for  that.  Come  to 
a  clear  understanding  w'ith  each  other ;  it  will  be  for  your  happiness 
in  the  long  run." 

So  they  did  come  to  a  clear  understanding  about  one  or  two  things. 
To  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  dismay,  she  found  that  Mr.  Gibson  had  no 
more  idea  than  Lady  Cumnor  of  her  breaking  faith  with  the  parents 
of  her  pupils.  Though  he  really  was  at  a  serious  loss  as  to  what 
was  to  become  of  Molly  until  she  could  be  under  the  protection  of 
his  new  wife  at  her  own  home,  and  though  his  domestic  worries 
teased  him  more  and  more  every  day,  he  was  too  honourable  to  think 
of  persuading  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  to  give  up  school  a  week  sooner  than 
was  right  for  his  sake.  He  did  not  even  perceive  how  easy  the 
task  of  persuasion  would  be ;  with  all  her  winning  wiles  she  could 
scarcely  lead  him  to  feel  impatience  for  the  wedding  to  take  place  at 
Michaelmas. 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you  what  a  comfort  and  relief  it  will  be  to  me, 
Hyacinth,  when  you  are  once  my  wife — the  mistress  of  my  home — 
poor  little  Molly's  mother  and  protector;  but  I  wouldn't  interfere 
with  your  previous  engagements  for  the  world.  It  wouldn't  be 
right." 


MAKING  FRIENDSHIP.  123 

"  Thank  you,  my  own  love.  How  good  you  are  !  So  many  men 
would  think  only  of  their  own  wishes  and  interests  !  I'm  sure  the 
parents  of  my  dear  pupils  will  admire  you — will  be  quite  surprised  at 
your  consideration  for  their  interests." 

"  Don't  tell  them,  then.  I  hate  being  admired.  Why  shouldn't 
you  say  it  is  your  wish  to  keep  on  your  school  till  they've  had  time 
to  look  out  for  another  ?  " 

"  Because  it  isn't,"  said  she,  daring  all.  "  I  long  to  be  making 
you  happy  ;  I  want  to  make  your  home  a  place  of  rest  and  comfort  to 
you  ;  and  I  do  so  wish  to  cherish  your  sweet  Molly,  as  I  hope  to  do, 
when  I  come  to  be  her  mother.  I  can't  take  virtue  to  myself  which 
doesn't  belong  to  me.  If  I  have  to  speak  for  myself,  I  shall  say, 
*  Good  people,  find  a  school  for  your  daughters  by  Michaelmas, — for 
after  that  time  I  must  go  and  make  the  happiness  of  others.'  I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  your  long  rides  in  November — coming  home  wet  at 
night  with  no  one  to  take  care  of  you.  Oh !  if  you  leave  it  to  me, 
I  shall  advise  the  parents  to  take  their  daughters  away  from  the  care 
of  one  whose  heart  will  be  absent.  Though  I  couldn't  consent  to 
any  time  before  Michaelmas — that  wouldn't  be  fair  or  right,  and  I'm 
sure  you  wouldn't  urge  me — you  are  too  good," 

"  Well,  if  you  think  that  they  will  consider  we  have  acted 
uprightly  by  them,  let  it  be  Michaelmas  with  all  my  heart.  What 
does  Lady  Cumnor  say  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  told  her  I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  like  waiting,  because 
of  your  difficulties  with  your  servants,  and  because  of  Molly — it 
would  be  so  desirable  to  enter  on  the  new  relationship  with  her  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  To  be  sure ;  so  it  would.  Poor  child  !  I'm  afraid  the  intelli- 
gence of  my  engagement  has  rather  startled  her." 

"Cynthia  will  feel  it  deeply,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  Un- 
willing to  let  her  daughter  be  behind  Mr.  Gibson's  in  sensibility  and 
affection. 

"  We  will  have  her  over  to  the  wedding!  She  and  Molly  shall 
be  bridesmaids,"  said  Mr.  Gibson,  in  the  unguarded  warmth  of  his 
lieart. 

This  plan  did  not  quite  suit  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick :  but  she  thought 
it  best  not  to  oppose  it,  until  she  had  a  presentable  excuse  to  give, 
and  perhaps  also  some  reason  would  naturally  arise  out  of  future 
circumstances  ;  so  at  this  time  she  only  smiled,  and  softly  pressed  the 
hand  she  held  in  hers. 


124  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

It  is  a  question  whether  Mrs.  lurkpatrick  or  Molly  wished  the 
most  for  the  day  to  be  over  which  they  were  to  spend  together  at  the 
Towers.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  was  rather  weary  of  girls  as  a  class.  All 
the  trials  of  her  life  were  connected  with  girls  in  some  way.  She 
was  very  young  when  she  first  became  a  governess,  and  had  been 
worsted  in  her  struggles  with  her  pupils,  in  the  first  place  she  ever 
went  to.  Her  elegance  of  appearance  and  manner,  and  her  accom- 
plishments, more  than  her  character  and  acquirements,  had  rendered 
it  easier  for  her  than  for  most  to  obtain  good  "  situations;  "  and  she 
had  been  absolutely  petted  in  some  ;  but  still  she  was  constantly 
encountering  naughty  or  stubboi-n,  or  over-conscientious,  or  severe- 
judging,  or  curious  and  observant  girls.  And  again,  before  Cynthia 
was  born,  she  had  longed  for  a  boy,  thinking  it  possible  that  if  some 
three  or  four  intervening  relations  died,  he  might  come  to  be  a 
baronet ;  and  instead  of  a  son,  lo  and  behold  it  was  a  daughter  ! 
Nevertheless,  with  all  her  dislike  to  girls  in  the  abstract  as  "the 
plagues  of  her  life  "  (and  her  aversion  ^^-as  not  diminished  by  the  fact 
of  her  having  kept  a  school  for  "  young  ladies  "  at  Ashcombe),  she 
really  meant  to  be  as  kind  as  she  could  be  to  her  new  step -daughter, 
whom  she  remembered  principally  as  a  black-haired,  sleepy  child,  in 
whose  eyes  she  had  read  admiration  of  herself.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick 
accepted  Mr.  Gibson  principally  because  she  was  tired  of  the 
struggle  of  earning  her  own  livelihood ;  but  she  liked  him  personally 
— nay,  she  even  loved  him  in  her  torpid  way,  and  she  intended  to  be 
good  to  his  daughter,  though  she  felt  as  if  it  would  have  been  easier 
for  her  to  have  been  good  to  his  son. 

Molly  was  bracing  herself  up  in  her  way  too.  "I  will  be  like 
Harriet.  I  will  think  of  others.  I  won't  think  of  myself,"  she  kept 
repeating  all  the  way  to  the  Towers.  But  there  was  no  selfishness  in 
wishing  that  the  day  was  come  to  an  end,  and  that  she  did  very 
heartily.  Mrs.  Hamley  sent  her  thither  in  the  carriage,  v/hich  was 
to  wait  and  bring  her  back  at  night.  Mrs.  Hamley  wanted  Molly  to 
make  a  favourable  impression,  and  she  sent  for  her  to  come  and  show 
herself  before  she  set  out. 

"  Don't  put  on  your  silk  gown — your  white  muslin  will  look  the 
nicest,  my  dear." 

"  Not  my  silk  ?  it  is  quite  new  !     I  had  it  to  come  here." 

"  Still,  I  think  your  white  muslin  suits  you  the  best."  '  Any- 
thing but  that  horrid  plaid  silk '  was  the  thought  in  lilrs.  Hamlcy's 
mind  ;  and,  thanks  to  her,  Molly  set  ofi"  for  the  Towers,  looking  a 


Thk   Nf-w  Mamtja. 


MAKING   FKIENDSniP.  125 

little  quaint,  it  is  true,  but  thoroughly  lady-like,  if  she  was  old- 
fashioucd.  Her  father  was  to  meet  her  there ;  but  he  had  been 
detained,  and  she  had  to  face  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  by  herself,  the 
recollection  of  her  last  day  of  misery  at  the  Towers  fresh  in  her 
mind  as  if  it  had  been  yesterday.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  was  as  caressing 
as  could  be.  She  held  Molly's  hand  in  hers,  as  they  sate  together 
in  the  library,  after  the  first  salutations  were  over.  She  kept  stroking 
it  from  time  to  time,  and  purring  out  inarticulate  sounds  of  loving 
satisfaction,  as  she  gazed  in  the  blushing  face. 

"  What  eyes !  so  like  your  dear  father's  !  How  we  shall  love 
each  other — shan't  we,  darling  ?     For  his  sake  !  " 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Molly,  bravely;  and  then  she  could  not  finish  her 
sentence. 

"  And  you've  just  got  the  same  beautiful  black  curling  hair!  " 
said  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  softly  lifting  one  of  Molly's  curls  from  off  her 
white  temple. 

"  Papa's  hair  is  growing  grey,"  said  Molly. 
"  Is  it  ?     I  never  see  it.     I  never  shall  see  it.     He  will  always 
be  to  me  the  handsomest  of  men." 

Mr.  Gibson  was  really  a  very  handsome  man,  and  Molly  was 
pleased  with  the  compliment ;  but  she  could  not  help  saying, — 

"  Still  he  will  grow  old,  and  his  hair  will  grow  grey.  I  think  he 
will  be  just  as  handsome,  but  it  won't  be  as  a  young  man." 

"Ah!  that's  just  it,  love.  He'll  always  be  handsome;  some 
people  always  are.  And  he  is  so  fond  of  you,  dear."  Molly's  colour 
flashed  into  her  face.  She  did  not  want  an  assurance  of  her  own 
father's  love  from  this  strange  woman.  She  could  not  help  being 
angry  ;  all  she  could  do  was  to  keep  silent.  "  You  don't  know  how 
he  speaks  of  you  ;  '  his  little  treasure,'  as  he  calls  you.  I'm  almost 
jealous  sometimes."  v 

Molly  took  her  hand  away,  and  her  heart  began  to  harden  ;  these 
speeches  were  so  discordant  to  her.  But  she  set  her  teeth  together, 
and  "  tried  to  be  good." 

"  We  must  make  him  so  happy.  I'm  afraid  he  has  had  a  great 
deal  to  annoy  him  at  home  ;  but  we  will  do  away  with  all  that  now. 
You  must  tell  me,"  seeing  the  cloud  in  Molly's  eyes,  ".what  he  likes 
and  dislikes,  for  of  course  you  will  know." 

Molly's  face  cleared  a  little ;  of  course  she  did  know.  She  had 
not  watched  and  loved  him  so  long  without  believing  that  she  under- 
stood him  better  than  any  one  else :  though  how  he  had  come  to  like 


126  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTEES. 

Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  enougli  to  v,dsli  to  many  her,  was  an  unsolved 
problem  tlitit  she  unconsciously  put  aside  as  inexplicable.  Mrs. 
Kirkpatrick  went  on, — "  All  men  have  their  fancies  and  antipathies, 
even  the  wisest.  I  have  known  some  gentlemen  annoyed  beyond 
measure  by  the  merest  tiifles ;  leaving  a  door  open,  or  spilling  tea  in 
their  saucers,  or  a  shawl  crookedly  put  on.  Why,"  continued  she, 
lowering  her  voice,  "  I  know  of  a  house  to  which  Lord  HoUingford 
will  never  be  asked  again  because  he  didn't  wipe  his  shoes  on  both 
the  mats  in  the  hall !  Now  you  must  tell  me  what  j'our  dear  father 
dislikes  most  in  these  fanciful  ways,  and  I  shall  take  care  to  avoid  it. 
You  must  be  my  little  friend  and  helper  in  pleasing  him.  It  will  be 
such  a  pleasure  to  me  to  attend  to  his  slightest  fancies.  About  my 
dress,  too — what  colours  does  he  like  best  ?  I  want  to  do  everything 
in  my  power  with  a  view  to  his  approval." 

Molly  was  gratified  by  all  this,  and  began  to  think  that  really, 
after  all,  perhaps  her  father  had  done  well  for  himself;  and  that  if 
she  could  help  towards  his  new  happiness,  she  ought  to  do  it.  So 
she  tried  very  conscientiously  to  think  over  Mr.  Gibson's  wishes 
and  ways ;  to  ponder  over  what  annoyed  him  the  most  in  his 
household. 

"  I  think,"  said  she,  "papa  isn't  particular  about  many  things  ; 
but  I  think  our  not  having  the  dinner  quite  punctual — quite  ready 
for  him  when  he  comes  in,  fidgets  him  more  than  anything.  You 
see,  he  has  often  had  a  long  ride,  and  there  is  another  long  ride  to 
come,  and  he  has  only  half-an-hour — sometimes  only  a  quartei' — to 
eat  his  dinner  in." 

"Thank  you,  my  own  love.  Punctuality!  Yes;  it's  a  great 
thing  in  a  household.  It's  what  I've  had  to  enforce  with  my  j'oung 
ladies  at  Ashcombe.  No  wonder  poor  dear  Mr.  Gibson  has  been  dis- 
pleased at  his  dinner  not  being  ready,  and  he  so  hard-worked  !  " 

"Papa  doesn't  care  what  he  has,  if  it's  only  ready.  He  would 
take  bread-and-cheese,  if  cook  would  only  send  it  in  instead  of 
dinner." 

"  Bread-and-cheese  !     Does  Mr.  Gibson  eat  cheese  ?  " 

"Yes;  he's  very  fond  of  it,"  said  Molly,  innocently.  "I've 
known  him  eat  toasted  cheese  when  he  has  been  too  tired  to  fancy 
anything  else." 

"  Oh  !  but,  my  dear,  we  must  change  all  that.  I  shouldn't  like 
to  think  of  your  father  eating  cheese ;  it's  such  a  strong-smelling, 
coarse  kind  of  thing.    We  must  get  him  a  cook  who  can  toss  him  up 


I 


MAKING  FRIENDSHIP.  127 

au   omelette,    or   somotliing  clcgjint.      Cheese   is  only  fit  for  the 
kitchen." 

"  Papa  is  very  fond  of  it,"  persevered  Molly. 

"  Oh  !  hut  we  will  cure  him  of  that.  I  couldn't  bear  the  smell 
of  cheese  ;  and  I'm  sure  he  would  be  sorry  to  annoy  me." 

Molly  was  silent ;  it  did  not  do,  she  found,  to  be  too  minute  in 
telling  about  her  father's  likes  or  dislikes.  She  had  better  leave  them 
for  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  to  find  out  for  herself.  It  was  an  awkward 
pause  ;  each  was  trying  to  find  something  agreeable  to  say.  Molly 
spoke  at  length.  "Please!  I  should  so  like  to  know  something 
about  Cj'nthia — your  daughter." 

"  Yes,  call  her  Cynthia.  It's  a  pretty  name,  isn't  it  ?  Cj^nthia 
Kirkpatrick.  Not  so  pretty,  though,  as  my  old  name,  Hyacinth 
Clare.  People  used  to  say  it  suited  me  so  well.  I  must  show  you 
au  acrostic  a  gentleman — he  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  53rd — made 
upon  it.  Oh  !  we  shall  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  each  other,  I 
foresee  !  " 

"  But  about  Cynthia  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!  about  dear  Cjoithia.  What  do  you  want  to  know, 
my  dear?  " 

"  Papa  said  she  was  to  live  with  us !     When  will  she  come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  was  it  not  sweet  of  your  kind  father  ?  I  thought  of 
nothing  else  but  Cynthia's  going  out  as  a  governess  when  she  had 
completed  her  education ;  she  has  been  brought  up  for  it,  and  has 
had  great  advantages.  But  good  dear  Mr.  Gibson  wouldn't  hear  of 
it.  He  said  yesterday  that  she  must  come  and  live  with  us  when  she 
left  school." 

"  When  will  she  leave  school  ?  " 

"  She  went  for  two  years.  I  don't  think  I  must  let  her  leave 
before  next  summer.  She  teaches  English  as  well  as  learning  French. 
Next  summer  she  shall  come  home,  and  then  shan't  we  be  a  happy 
little  quartette  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Molly.  "  But  she  is  to  come  to  the  wedding, 
isn't  she  ?  "  she  went  on  timidly,  not  knowing  how  far  Mrs.  Kirk- 
patrick would  like  the  allusion  to  her  marriage. 

"  Your  father  has  begged  for  her  to  come  ;  but  we  must  think 
about  it  a  little  more  before  quite  fixing  it.  The  journey  is  a  great 
expense !  " 

"  Is  she  like  you  ?     I  do  so  want  to  see  her." 

"  She  is  very  handsome,  people  say.     In   the  bright -coloured 


128  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

style, — perliaios  something  like  what  I  was.  But  I  like  the  dark- 
haired  foreign  kind  of  beauty  best — just  now,"  touching  Molly's  hair, 
and  looking  at  her  with  an  expression  of  sentimental  remembrance. 

"  Does  Cynthia — is  she  very  clever  and  accomplished  ?  "  asked 
Molly,  a  little  afraid  lest  the  answer  should  remove  Miss  Kirkpatrick 
at  too  great  a  distance  from  her. 

"  She  ought  to  be  ;  I've  paid  ever  so  much  money  to  have  her 
taught  by  the  best  masters.  But  you  will  see  her  before  long,  and 
I'm  afraid  we  must  go  now  to  Lady  Cumnor.  It  has  been  very 
charming  having  you  all  to  myself,  but  I  know  Lady  Cumnor  will  be 
expecting  us  now,  and  she  was  very  curious  to  see  you, — my  future 
daughter,  as  she  calls  you." 

Molly  followed  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  into  the  momiug-room,  where 
Lady  Cumnor  was  sitting — a  little  annoyed,  because,  having  com- 
pleted her  toilette  earlier  than  usual,  Clare  had  not  been  aware  by 
instinct  of  the  fact,  and  so  had  not  brought  Molly  Gibson  for 
inspection  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before.  Every  small  occurrence  is 
an  event  in  the  day  of  a  convalescent  invalid,  and  a  little  while  ago 
Molly  would  have  met  with  patronizing  appreciation,  where  now  she 
had  to  encounter  criticism.  Of  Lady  Cumnor's  character  as  an 
individual  she  knew  nothing ;  she  only  knew  she  was  going  to  see 
and  be  seen  by  a  live  countess;  nay,  more,  by  ^^thc  countess"  of 
Hollingford. 

Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  led  her  into  Lady  Cumnor's  presence  by  the 
hand,  and  in  presenting  her,  said, — "  My  dear  little  daughter.  Lady 
Cumnor !  " 

"Now,  Clare,  don't  let  me  have  nonsense.  She  is  not  your 
daughter  yet,  and  may  never  be, — I  believe  that  one-third  of  the 
engagements  I  have  heard  of,  have  never  come  to  marriages.  Miss 
Gibson,  1  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  for  your  iiith(3r's  sake ;  when  I 
know  you  better,  I  hope  it  will  be  for  j'our  own." 

Molly  very  heartily  hoped  that  she  might  never  be  known  any 
better  by  the  stern-looking  lady  who  sate  so  uprightly  in  the  easy 
chair,  prepared  for  lounging,  and  which  therefore  gave  all  the  more 
effect  to  the  stiff  attitude.  Lady  Cumnor  luckily  took  Molly's 
silence  for  acquiescent  humility,  and  went  on  speaking  after  a  further 
little  pause  of  inspection. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  like  her  looks,  Clare.  You  may  make  something 
of  her.  It  will  be  a  great  advantage  to  you,  my  dear,  to  have  a  lady 
who  has  trained  up  several  young  people  of  quality  always  about  you 


MAKIXO  FRIENDSmr.  129 

just  at  the  time  ^vlicu  you  are  growing  up.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Clare!"  —  a  sudden  thought  striking  her,  —  "you  and  she  must 
become  better  acquainted  —  you  know  nothing  of  each  other  at 
present ;  you  are  not  to  be  married  till  Christmas,  and  Avhat  could 
be  better  than  that  she  should  go  back  with  you  to  Ashcombe  ! 
She  would  be  with  you  constantly,  and  have  the  advantage  of  the 
companionship  of  your  young  people,  which  would  be  a  good  thing 
for  an  only  child  !  It's  a  capital  plan  ;  I'm  very  glad  I  thought 
of  it !  " 

Now  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  which  of  Lady  Cumnor's  two 
hearers  was  the  most  dismayed  at  the  idea  which  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  her.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  had  no  fancy  for  being  encumbered 
with  a  step-daughter  before  her  time.  If  Molly  came  to  be  an 
inmate  of  her  house,  farewell  to  many  little  background  economies, 
and  a  still  more  serious  farewell  to  many  little  indulgences,  that 
were  innocent  enough  in  themselves,  but  which  Mrs.  Ivirkpatrick's 
former  life  had  caused  her  to  look  upon  as  sins  to  be  concealed  :  the 
dirty  dog's-eared  delightful  novel  from  the  Ashcombe  circulating 
library,  the  leaves  of  which  she  turned  over  with  a  pair  of  scissors  ; 
the  lounging-chair  which  she  had  for  use  at  her  own  home,  straight 
and  upright  as  she  sate  now  in  Lady  Cumnor's  presence ;  the  dainty 
morsel,  savoury  and  small,  to  which  she  treated  herself  for  her  own 
solitary  supper, — all  these  and  many  other  similarly  pleasant  things 
would  have  to  be  foregone  if  Molly  came  to  be  her  pupil,  parlour- 
boarder,  or  visitor,  as  Lady  Cumnor  was  planning.  One — two  things 
Clare  was  instinctively  resolved  upon  :  to  be  married  at  Michaelmas, 
and  not  to  have  Molly  at  Ashcombe.  But  she  smiled  as  sweetly  as 
if  the  plan  proposed  was  the  most  charming  project  iuAhe  world, 
while  all  the  time  her  poor  brains  were  beating  about  in  every  bush 
for  the  reasons  or  excuses  of  which  she  should  make  use  at  some 
future  time.  Molly,  however,  saved  her  all  this  trouble.  It  was  a 
question  which  of  the  three  was  the  most  sui-prised  by  the  words 
which  burst  out  of  her  lips.  She  did  not  mean  to  speak,  but  her 
heart  was  very  full,  and  almost  before  she  was  aware  of  her  thought 
she  heard  herself  saying, — 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  nice  at  all.  I  mean,  my  lady,  that  I 
should  dislike  it  very  much  ;  it  would  be  taking  me  away  from  papa 
just  these  very  few  last  months.  I  will  like  you,"  she  went  on,  her 
eyes  full  of  tears ;  and,  turning  to  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  she  put  her 
hand  into  her  future  stepmother's  with  the  prettiest  and  most 
Vol.  I.  9 


130  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

trustful  action.  "  I  "uill  tiy  Lard  to  love  you,  and  to  do  all  I  can 
to  make  you  happy  ;  but  you  must  not  take  me  away  from  papa  just 
this  veiy  last  bit  of  time  that  I  shall  have  him." 

Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  fondled  the  hand  thus  placed  in  hers,  and  was 
grateful  to  the  girl  for  her  outspoken  opposition  to  Lady  Cumnor's 
I)lan.  Clare  was,  however,  exceedingly  unwilling  to  back  up  Molly 
by  any  words  of  her  own  until  Lady  Cumnor  had  spoken  and  given 
the  cue.  But  there  was  something  in  Molly's  little  speech,  or  in 
her  straightforward  manner,  that  amused  instead  of  irritating  Lady 
Cumnor  in  her  present  mood.  Perhaps  she  was  tired  of  the  silkiness 
with  which  she  had  been  shut  up  for  so  many  days. 

She  put  up  her  glasses,  and  looked  at  them  both  before  speaking. 
Then  she  said — "  Upon  my  word,  young  lady  !  Why,  Clare,  you've 
got  your  work  before  you !  Not  but  what  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
ti'uth  in  what  she  says.  It  must  be  very  disagreeable  to  a  girl 
of  her  age  to  have  a  stepmother  coming  in  betAveen  her  father  and 
herself,  whatever  may  be  the  advantages  to  her  in  the  long  run." 

Molly  almost  felt  as  if  she  could  make  a  friend  of  the  stiff  old 
countess,  for  her  clearness  of  sight  as  to  the  plan  proposed  being  a 
trial ;  but  she  was  afraid,  in  her  new-born  desire  of  thinking  for 
others,  of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  being  hurt.  She  need  not  have  feared 
as  far  as  outward  signs  went,  for  the  smile  was  still  on  that  lady's 
pretty  rosy  lips,  and  the  soft  fondling  of  her  hand  never  stopped. 
Lady  Cumnor  was  more  interested  in  ]\Iolly  the  more  she  looked  at 
her ;  and  her  gaze  was  pretty  steady  through  her  gold-rimmed  eye- 
glasses. She  began  a  sort  of  catechism  ;  a  string  of  very  straight- 
forward questions,  such  as  any  lady  under  the  rank  of  countess  might 
have  scrupled  to  ask,  but  which  were  not  unkindly  meant. 

"  You  are  sixteen,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  am  seventeen.     My  birthday  was  three  weeks  ago." 

"  Yery  much  the  same  thing,  I  should  think.  Have  you  ever 
been  to  school  ?" 

"  No,  never  !     Miss  Ejto  has  taught  me  everj-thing  I  know." 

"  Umph  !  Miss  Eyre  was  your  governess,  I  suppose  ?  I  should 
not  have  thought  your  father  could  have  afforded  to  keep  a  governess. 
But  of  course  he  must  know  his  own  affairs  best." 

"  Certainly,  my  lady,"  replied  Molly,  a  little  touchy  as  to  any 
reflections  on  her  father's  wisdom. 

"  You  say  '  certainly  ! '  as  if  it  was  a  matter  of  course  that  every 
one  should  know  their  o-mi  affairs  best.     You  are  very  young.  Miss 


MAKING  FEIENDSHIP.  131 

Gibson — very.  You'll  know  better  [before  you  come  to  my  age. 
And  I  suppose  you've  been  taugbt  music,  and  the  use  of  globes,  and 
French,  and  all  the  usual  accomplishments,  since  you  have  had 
a  governess  ?  I  never  heard  of  such  nonsense !  "  she  went  on, 
lashing  herself  up.  "  An  only  daughter !  If  there  had  been  half-a- 
dozen,  there  might  have  been  some  sense  in  it." 

Molly  did  not  speak,  but  it  was  by  a  strong  effort  that  she  kept 
silence.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  fondled  her  hand  more  perseveringly  than 
ever,  hoping  thus  to  express  a  sufficient  amount  of  sympathy  to 
prevent  her  from  saying  anything  injudicious.  But  the  caress  had 
become  wearisome  to  Molly,  and  only  irritated  her  nerves.  She 
took  her  hand  out  of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick' s,  with  a  slight  manifestation 
of  impatience. 

It  was,  perhaps,  fortunate  for  the  general  peace  that  just  at  this 
moment  Mr.  Gibson  was  announced.  It  is  odd  enough  to  see  how 
the  entrance  of  a  person  of  the  opposite  sex  into  an  assemblage 
of  either  men  or  women  calms  down  the  little  discordances  and  the 
disturbance  of  mood.  It  was  the  case  now ;  at  Mr.  Gibson's 
entrance  my  lady  took  off  her  glasses,  and  smoothed  her  brow  ; 
Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  managed  to  get  up  a  very  becoming  blush,  and 
as  for  Molly,  her  face  glowed  with  delight,  and  the  white  teeth 
and  pretty  dimples  came  out  like  sunlight  on  a  landscape. 

Of  course,  after  the  first  greeting,  my  lady  had  to  have  a  private 
interview  with  her  doctor;  and  Molly  and  her  future  stepmother 
wandered  about  in  the  gardens  with  their  arms  round  each  other's 
waists,  or  hand  in  hand,  like  two  babes  in  the  wood ;  Mrs.  Kirk- 
patrick active  in  such  endearments,  Molly  passive,  and  feeling  within 
herself  very  shy  and  strange  ;  for  she  had  that  particular  kind  of  shy 
modesty  which  makes  any  one  uncomfortable  at  receiving  caresses 
from  a  person  towards  whom  the  heart  does  not  go  forth  with^an 
impulsive  welcome. 

Then  came  the  early  dinner ;  Lady  Cumnor  having  hers  in  the 
quiet  of  her  own  room,  to  which  she  was  still  a  prisoner.  Once  or 
twice  during  the  meal,  the  idea  crossed  Molly's  mind  that  her  father 
disliked  his  position  as  a  middle-aged  lover  being  made  so  evident  to 
the  men  in  waiting  as  it  was  by  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  affectionate 
speeches  and  innuendos.  He  tried  to  banish  every  tint  of  pink 
sentimentalism  from  the  conversation,  and  to  confine  it  to  matter  of 
fact ;  and  when  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  would  persevere  in  referring  to 
such   things  as  had  a  bearing  on  the  future   relationship  of  the 

9—2 


132  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

parties,  he  insisted  upon  viewing  tliem  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
way  ;  and  this  continued  even  after  the  men  had  left  the  room.  An 
old  rhyme  Molly  had  heard  Betty  use,  would  keep  running  in  her 
head  and  making  her  uneasy, — 

Two  is  compan}-, 
Three  is  truinperv. 

But  where  could  she  go  to  in  that  strange  house  ?  What  ought  she 
to  do  ?  She  was  roused  from  this  fit  of  wonder  and  ahstraction  l)y 
her  father's  saying — "  What  do  you  think  of  this  plan  of  Lady 
Cumnor's  ?  She  says  she  was  advising  you  to  have  Molly  as  a 
visitor  at  Ashcomhe  until  we  are  married." 

Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  countenance  fell.  If  only  Molly  would  he  so 
good  as  to  testify  again,  as  she  had  done  before  Lady  Cumnor  !  But 
if  the  proposal  was  made  by  her  father,  it  would  come  to  his  daughter 
from  a  different  quarter  than  it  had  done  from  a  strange  lady,  be  she 
ever  so  great.  Molly  did  not  say  anything ;  she  only  looked  pale, 
and  wistful,  and  anxious.  Mrs.  Ivirkpatrick  had  to  speak  for 
herself. 

"  It  would  be  a  charming  plan,  only — Well!  we  know  why  we 
would  rather  not  have  it,  don't  we,  love  ?  And  we  won't  tell  papa, 
for  fear  of  making  him  vain.  No  !  I  think  I  must  leave  her  with 
you,  dear  Mr.  Gibson,  for  a  tete-a-tete  for  these  last  few  weeks.  It 
would  be  cruel  to  take  her  away." 

"  But  you  know,  my  dear,  I  told  you  of  the  reason  why  it  does 
not  do  to  have  Molly  at  home  just  at  present,"  said  Mr.  Gibson, 
eagerly.  For  the  more  he  knew  of  his  future  wife,  the  more  he  felt 
it  necessary  to  remember  that,  with  all  her  foibles,  she  would  be  able 
to  stand  between  Molly  and  any  such  adventures  as  that  which  had 
occuiTed  lately  with  Mr.  Coxe  ;  so  that  one  of  the  good  reasons  for 
the  step  he  had  taken  was  always  present  to  him,  while  it  had 
slipped  off  the  smooth  surface  of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  mirror-like  mind 
without  leaving  any  impression.  She  now  recalled  it,  on  seeing 
Mr.  Gibson's  anxious  face. 

But  what  were  Molly's  feelings  at  these  last  words  of  her  father's  ? 
She  had  been  sent  from  home  for  some  reason,  kept  a  secret  fi'om 
her,  but  told  to  this  strange  woman.  Was  there  to  be  perfect  con- 
fidence between  these  two,  and  she  to  be  for  ever  shut  out  ?  Was 
she,  and  what  concerned  her — though  how  she  did  not  know — to  be 
discussed  between  them  for  the  future,  and  she  to  be  kept  in  the 


MAKING  FRIENDSHIP.  133 

(lark  ?  A  bitter  paug  of  jealousy  made  lier  heart- sick.  Slic  might  as 
well  go  to  Ashcombe,  or  anywhere  else,  now.  Thinking  more  of 
others'  happiness  than  of  her  own  was  very  fine ;  but  did  it  not 
mean  giving  up  her  very  individuality,  quenching  all  the  warm  love, 
the  true  desires,  that  made  her  herself?  Yet  in  this  deadness  lay 
her  only  comfort ;  or  so  it  seemed.  Wandering  in  such  mazes,  she 
hardly  knew  how  the  conversation  went  on  ;  a  third  was  indeed 
"trumpery,"  where  there  was  entire  confidence  between  the  two 
who  were  company,  from  which  the  other  was  shut  out.  She  was 
positively  unhappy,  and  her  father  did  not  appear  to  see  it ;  he  was 
absorbed  with  his  new  plans  and  his  new  wife  that  was  to  be.  But 
he  did  notice  it ;  and  was  truly  sorry  for  his  little  girl :  only  he 
thought  that  there  was  a  greater  chance  for  the  future  harmony  of 
the  household,  if  he  did  not  lead  Molly  to  define  her  present  feelings 
by  putting  them  into  words.  It  was  his  general  plan  to  repress 
emotion  by  not  showing  the  sympathy  he  felt.  Yet,  when  he  had 
to  leave,  he  took  Molly's  hand  in  his,  and  held  it  there,  in  such  a 
different  manner  to  that  in  which  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  had  done  ;  and 
his  voice  softened  to  his  child  as  he  bade  her  good-by,  and  added  the 
words  (most  unusual  to  him),  "  God  bless  you,  child !  " 

Molly  had  held  up  all  the  day  bravely ;  she  had  not  shown  anger, 
or  repugnance,  or  annoyance,  or  regret ;  but  when  once  more  by 
herself  in  the  Hamley  carriage,  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears, 
and  cried  her  fill  till  she  reached  the  village  of  Hamley.  Then  she 
tried  in  vain  to  smooth  her  face  into  smiles,  and  do  away  with  the 
other  signs  of  her  grief.  She  only  hoped  she  could  run  upstairs  to 
her  own  room  without  notice,  and  bathe  her  eyes  in  cold  water 
before  she  was  seen.  But  at  the  hall-door  she  was  caught  by  the 
squire  and  Roger  coming  in  from  an  after-dinner  stroll  in  the  garden, 
and  hospitably  anxious  to  help  her  to  alight.  Roger  saw  the^tate 
of  things  in  an  instant,  and  saying, — 

"  My  mother  has  been  looking  for  you  to  come  back  for  this  last 
hour,"  he  led  the  way  to  the  drawing-room.  But  Mrs.  Hamley  was 
not  there  ;  the  squire  had  stopped  to  speak  to  the  coachman  about 
one  of  the  horses  ;  they  two  were  alone.     Roger  said, — 

"  I  am  afi'aid  you  have  had  a  very  trying  day.  I  have  thought 
of  you  several  times,  for  I  know  how  awkward  these  new  relations 
are." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she,  her  lips  trembling,  and  on  the  point  of 
crying  again.     *'  I  did  try  to  remember  what  you  said,  and  to  think 


134  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

more  of  others,  but  it  is  so  difficult  sometimes ;  you  know  it  is,  don't 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  gravely.  He  was  gratified  by  her  simple  con- 
fession of  having  borne  his  words  of  advice  in  mind,  and  tried  to  act 
up  to  them.  He  was  but  a  very  young  man,  and  he  was  honestly 
flattered  ;  perhaps  this  led  him  on  to  offer  more  advice,  and  this 
time  it  was  evidently  mingled  with  sympathy.  He  did  not  want  to 
draw  out  her  confidence,  which  he  felt  might  very  easily  be  done 
with  such  a  simple  girl ;  but  he  wished  to  help  her  by  giving  her 
a  few  of  the  principles  on  which  he  had  learnt  to  rely.  "It  is 
difficult,"  he  went  on,  *'  but  by-and-by  you  will  be  so  much  happier 
for  it." 

"  No,  I  shan't'."  said  Molly,  shaking  her  head.  "  It  will  be 
very  dull  when  I  shall  have  killed  myself,  as  it  were,  and  live  only 
in  trying  to  do,  and  to  be,  as  other  people  like.  I  don't  see  any  end 
to  it.  I  might  as  well  never  have  lived.  And  as  for  the  happiness 
you  speak  of,  I  shall  never  be  happy  again." 

There  was  an  unconscious  depth  in  what  she  said,  that  Eoger 
did  not  know  how  to  answer  at  the  moment ;  it  was  easier  to  address 
himself  to  the  assertion  of  the  girl  of  seventeen,  that  she  should 
never  be  happy  again. 

"  Nonsense  :  perhaps  in  ten  years'  time  you  will  be  looking  back 
on  this  trial  as  a  very  light  one — who  knows  ?  " 

"  I  daresay  it  seems  foolish  ;  perhaps  all  our  earthly  trials  will 
appear  foolish  to  us  after  a  while  ;  perhaps  they  seem  so  now  to 
angels.  But  we  are  ourselves,  you  know,  and  this  is  noiv,  not  some 
time  to  come,  a  long,  long  way  ofi'.  And  we  are  not  angels,  to  be 
comforted  by  seeing  the  ends  for  which  everything  is  sent." 

She  had  never  spoken  so  long  a  sentence  to  him  before  ;  and 
when  she  had  said  it,  though  she  did  not  take  her  eyes  away  from 
his,  as  they  stood  steadily  looking  at  each  other,  she  blushed  a  little ; 
she  could  not  have  told  why.  Nor  did  he  tell  himself  why  a  sudden 
pleasure  came  over  him  as  he  gazed  at  her  simple  expressive  face — 
and  for  a  moment  lost  the  sense  of  what  she  was  saying,  in  the 
sensation  of  pity  for  her  sad  earnestness.  In  an  instant  more  he 
was  himself  again.  Only  it  is  pleasant  to  the  wisest,  most  reason- 
able youth  of  one  or  two  and  twenty  to  find  himself  looked  up  to  as  a 
Mentor  by  a  girl  of  seventeen. 

"  I  know,  I  understand.  Yes  :  it  is  now  we  have  to  do  with. 
Don't  let  us  go  into  metaphysics."     Molly  opened  her  eyes  wide  at 


MAKIKG   FRIENDSUIP.  135 

this.  Had  slio  beeu  talking  metapliysics  without  kuowiug  it  ? 
*'  One  looks  forward  to  a  mass  of  trials,  wliicli  will  only  have  to  be 
encountered  one  by  one,  little  by  little.  Oh,  here  is  my  mother  ! 
she  will  tell  you  better  than  I  can." 

And  the  tete-a-tete  was  merged  in  a  trio.  j\Irs.  Hamley  lay 
down ;  she  had  not  been  well  all  day — she  had  missed  Molly,  she 
said, — and  now  she  wanted  to  hear  of  all  the  adventures  that  had 
occurred  to  the  girl  at  the  Towers.  Molly  sate  on  a  stool  close  to 
the  head  of  the  sofa,  and  Roger,  though  at  first  he  took  up  a  book 
and  tried  to  read  that  he  might  be  no  restraint,  soon  found  his 
reading  all  a  pretence :  it  was  so  interesting  to  listen  to  Molly's 
little  narrative,  and,  besides,  if  he  could  give  her  any  help  in  her 
time  of  need,  was  it  not  his  duty  to  make  himself  acq^uainted  with 
all  the  circumstances  of  her  case  '? 

And  so  they  went  on  during  all  the  remaining  time  of  Molly's 
stay  at  Hamley.  Mrs.  Hamley  sympathized,  and  liked  to  heai* 
details ;  as  the  French  say,  her  sympathy  was  given  en  detail,  the 
squire's  en  ijros.  He  was  very  sorry  for  her  evident  grief,  and 
almost  felt  guilty,  as  if  he  had  had  a  share  in  bringing  it  about,  by 
the  mention  he  had  made  of  the  possibility  of  Mr.  Gribson's  marrying 
again,  when  first  Molly  came  on  her  visit  to  them.  He  said  to  his 
wife  more  than  once, — 

"  'Pon  my  word,  now,  I  wish  I'd  never  spoken  those  unlucky 
words  that  first  day  at  dinner.  Do  you  remember  how  she  took 
them  up  ?  It  was  like  a  prophecy  of  what  was  to  come,  now,  wasn't 
it  ?  And  she  looked  pale  from  that  day,  and  I  don't  think  she  has 
ever  fairly  enjoyed  her  food  since.  I  must  take  more  care  what  I 
say  for  the  future.  Not  but  v/hat  Gibson  is  doing  the  veiy  best 
thing,  both  for  himself  and  her,  that  he  can  do.  I  told  him  so  only 
yesterday.  But  I'm  very  sorry  for  the  little  girl,  though.  It,wish 
I'd  never  spoken  about  it,  that  I  do  !  but  it  was  like  a  prophecy, 
wasn't  it  ?  " 

Roger  tried  hard  to  find  out  a  reasonable  and  right  method  of 
comfort,  for  he,  too,  in  his  way,  was  sorry  for  the  girl,  who  bravely 
struggled  to  be  cheerful,  in  spite  of  her  own  private  grief,  for  his 
mother's  sake.  He  felt  as  if  high  principle  and  noble  precept  ought 
to  perform  an  immediate  work.  But  they  do  not,  for  there  is  always 
the  unknown  quantity  of  individual  experience  and  feeling,  which 
offer  a  tacit  resistance,  the  amount  incalculable  by  another,  to  all 
good  counsel  and  high  decree.     But  the  bond  between  the  Mentor 


136  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

and  his  Telemaclius  strengthened  eveiy  day.  He  endeavoured  to 
lead  her  out  of  morbid  thought  into  interest  in  other  than  personal 
things  ;  and,  naturally  enough,  his  own  objects  of  interest  came 
readiest  to  hand.  She  felt  that  he  did  her  good,  she  did  not  know 
•why  or  how  ;  but  after  a  talk  with  him,  she  always  fancied  that  she 
had  got  the  clue  to  goodness  and  peace,  v/hatever  befell. 


(  137  ) 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PREPARING  FOR  THE  WEDDING. 

Meanwhile  the  love-affixirs  between  the  middle-aged  couple  were 
prospering  well,  after  a  fashion ;  after  the  fashion  that  they  liked 
best,  although  it  might  probably  have  appeared  dull  and  prosaic  to 
younger  people.  Lord  Cumnor  had  come  down  in  great  glee  at  the 
news  he  had  heard  from  his  wife  at  the  Towers.  He,  too,  seemed 
to  think  he  had  taken  an  active  part  in  bringing  about  the  match  by 
only  speaking  about  it.  His  first  words  on  the  subject  to  Lady 
Cumnor  were, — 

"I  told  you  so.  Now  didn't  I  say  what  a  good,  suitable  affair 
this  affair  between  Gibson  and  Clare  would  be  !  I  don't  know  when 
I  have  been  so  much  pleased.  You  may  despise  the  trade  of  match- 
maker, my  lady,  but  I  am  very  proud  of  it.  After  this,  I  shall  go 
on  looking  out  for  suitable  cases  among  the  middle-aged  people  of 
my  acquaintance.  I  shan't  meddle  with  young  folks,  they  are  so  apt 
to  be  fanciful ;  but  I  have  been  so  successful  in  this,  that  I  do  think 
it  is  good  encouragement  to  go  on." 

"  Go  on — with  what  ?  "  asked  Lady  Cumnor,  drily.  "  Qh, 
planning  !  " 

"  You  can't  deny  that  I  planned  this  match." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  likely  to  do  either  much  good  or  harm  by 
planning,"  she  replied,  with  cool,  good  sense. 

"  It  puts  it  into  people's  heads,  my  dear." 

"  Yes,  if  you  speak  about  your  plans  to  them,  of  course  it  does. 
But  in  this  case  you  never  spoke  to  either  Mr.  Gibson  or  Clare, 
did  you  ?  " 

All  at  once  the  recollection  of  how  Clare  had  come  upon  the 
passage  in  Lord  Cumnor's  letter  flashed  on  his  lady,  but  she  did  not 


138  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

say  anythiDg  about  it,  but  left  lier  busbanil  to  flouuder  about  as  best 
he  might. 

"  No  !  I  never  spoke  to  them  ;  of  course  not." 

"  Then  you  must  be  strongly  mesmeric,  and  your  will  acted  upou 
theirs,  if  you  are  to  take  credit  for  any  part  in  the  affair,"  continued 
his  pitiless  wife. 

"  I  really  can't  say.  It's  no  use  looking  back  to  what  I  said  or 
did.  I'm  very  well  satisfied  with  it,  and  that's  enough,  and  I  mean 
to  show  them  how  much  I'm  pleased.  I  shall  give  Clare  something 
towards  her  rigging  out,  and  they  shall  have  a  breakfast  at  Ashcombe 
Manor-house.  I'll  write  to  Preston  about  it.  When  did  you  say 
they  were  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  I  think  they'd  better  wait  till  Christmas,  and  I  have  told  them 
so.  It  would  amuse  the  children,  going  over  to  Ashcombe  for  the 
wedding ;  and  if  it's  bad  weather  during  the  holidays  I'm  always 
afraid  of  their  finding  it  dull  at  the  Towers.  It's  very  different  if 
it's  a  good  frost,  and  they  can  go  out  skating  and  sledging  in  the 
park.  But  these  last  two  years  it  has  been  so  wet  for  them,  poor 
dears  !  " 

"  And  will  the  other  poor  dears  be  content  to  wait  to  make  a 
holiday  for  your  grandchildren  ?  '  To  make  a  Roman  holiday.' 
Pope,  or  somebody  else,  has  a  line  of  poetry  like  that.  '  To  make  a 
Roman  holiday,'  " — he  repeated,  pleased  with  his  unusual  aptitude 
at  quotation. 

"  It's  Byron,  and  it's  nothing  to  do  with  the  subject  in  hand. 
I'm  surprised  at  your  lordship's  quoting  Byron, — he  was  a  very 
immoral  poet." 

"  I  saw  him  take  his  oaths  in  the  House  of  Lords,"  said  Lord 
Cumnor,  apologetically. 

"  Well !  the  less  said  about  him  the  better,"  said  Lady  Cumnor, 
"I  have  told  Clare  that  she  had  better  not  think  of  being  married 
before  Christmas  :  and  it  won't  do  for  her  to  give  up  her  school  in  a 
hurry  either." 

But  Clare  did  not  intend  to  wait  till  Christmas ;  and  for  this  once 
she  carried  her  point  against  the  will  of  the  countess,  and  without 
many  words,  or  any  open  opposition.  She  had  a  harder  task  in 
setting  aside  Mr.  Gibson's  desire  to  have  CjTithia  over  for  the 
wedding,  even  if  she  went  back  to  her  school  at  Boulogne  directly 
after  the  ceremony.  At  first  she  had  said  that  it  would  be  delightful, 
a  charming  plan ;  only  she  feared  that  she  must  give  up  her  own 


PllEPARING   FOK   THE   WEDDIInG.  139 

wislies  to  have  lier  cliilcl  near  her  at  such  a  time,  on  account  of  the 
expense  of  the  double  jouruey. 

But  Mr.  Gibson,  economical  as  he  was  in  his  habitual  expenditure, 
had  a  really  generous  heart.  He  had  already  shown  it,  in  entirely 
relinquishing  his  future  wife's  life-interest  in  the  very  small  property 
the  late  Mr.  Kirkpatrick  had  left,  in  favour  of  Cynthia ;  while  he 
arranged  that  she  should  come  to  his  home  as  a  daughter  as  soon  as 
she  left  the  school  she  was  at.  The  life-interest  was  about  thirty 
pounds  a  year.  Now  he  gave  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  three  five-pound 
notes,  saying  that  he  hoped  they  would  do  away  with  the  objections 
to  Cynthia's  coming  over  to  the  wedding ;  and  at  the  time  Mrs. 
Kirkpatrick  felt  as  if  they  would,  and  caught  the  reflection  of  his 
strong  wish,  and  fancied  it  was  her  own.  If  the  letter  could  have 
been  ^vritten  and  the  money  sent  off  that  day  while  the  reflected  glow 
of  afiection  lasted,  Cynthia  would  have  been  bridesmaid  to  her 
mother.  But  a  hundred  little  interruptions  came  in  the  way  of 
letter- wi'iting  ;  and  the  value  aflixed  to  the  money  increased :  money 
had  been  so  much  needed,  so  hardly  earned  in  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's 
life ;  while  the  perhaps  necessary  separation  of  mother  and  child  had 
lessened  the  amount  of  afiection  the  former  had  to  bestow.  So  she 
persuaded  herself,  afresh,  that  it  would  be  unwise  to  disturb  Cynthia 
at  her  studies  ;  to  interrupt  the  fulfilment  of  her  duties  just  after  the 
semcstre  had  begun  afresh ;  and  she  wrote  a  letter  to  Madame 
Lefevre  so  well  imbued  with  this  persuasion,  that  an  answer  which 
was  almost  an  echo  of  her  words  was  returned,  the  sense  of  which 
being  conveyed  to  Mr.  Gibson,  who  was  no  great  French  scholar, 
settled  the  vexed  question,  to  his  moderate  but  unfeigned  regret. 
But  the  fifteen  pounds  were  not  returned.  Indeed,  not  merely  that 
sum,  but  a  great  part  of  the  hundi-ed  which  Lord  Cumnor  had  given 
her  for  her  trousseau,  was  required  to  pay  ofi"  debts  at  Ashcomb^  ; 
for  the  school  had  been  anything  but  flourishing  since  Mrs.  Erk- 
patrick  had  had  it.  It  was  very  much  to  her  credit  that  she  pre- 
fen-ed  clearing  herself  from  debt  to  purchasing  wedding  finery.  But 
it  was  one  of  the  few  points  to  be  respected  in  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  that 
she  had  always  been  careful  in  payment  to  the  shops  where  she 
dealt ;  it  was  a  little  sense  of  duty  cropping  out.  Whatever  other 
faults  might  arise  from  her  superficial  and  flimsy  character,  she  was 
always  uneasy  till  she  was  out  of  debt.  Yet  she  had  no  scruple  in 
appropriating  her  future  husband's  money  to  her  own  use,  when  it 
was  decided  that  it  was  not  to  be  employed  as  he  intended.     What 


140  VaVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

new  articles  she  bought  for  herself,  were  all  such  as  would  make  a 
show,  and  an  impression  upon  the  ladies  of  Hollingford.  She 
argued  with  herself  that  linen,  and  all  under-clothing,  would  never 
be  seen  ;  while  she  knew  that  every  gown  she  had,  would  give  rise 
to  much  discussion,  and  would  be  counted  up  in  the  little  town. 

So  her  stock  of  underclothing  was  very  small,  and  scarcely  any 
of  it  new  ;  but  it  was  made  of  dainty  material,  and  was  finely 
mended  up  by  her  deft  fingers,  many  a  night  long  after  her  pupils 
were  in  bed ;  inwardly  resohing  all  the  time  she  sewed,  that  here- 
after some  one  else  should  do  her  plain-work.  Indeed,  many  a  little 
circumstance  of  former  subjection  to  the  will  of  others  rose  up  before 
her  during  these  quiet  hours,  as  an  endurance  or  a  suffering  never  to 
occur  again.  So  apt  are  people  to  look  forward  to  a  different  kind 
of  life  from  that  to  which  they  have  been  accustomed,  as  being  free 
from  care  and  trial !  She  recollected  how,  one  time  during  this  very 
summer  at  the  Towers,  after  she  was  engaged  to  Mr.  Gibson,  when 
she  had  taken  above  an  hour  to  arrange  her  hair  in  some  new  mode 
carefully  studied  from  Mrs.  Bradley's  fashion-book — after  all,  when 
she  came  down,  looking  her  very  best,  as  she  thought,  and  ready  for 
her  lover,  Lady  Cumnor  had  sent  her  back  again  to  her  room,  just 
as  if  she  had  been  a  little  child,  to  do  her  hair  over  again,  and  not 
to  make  such  a  figure  of  fun  of  herself!  Another  time  she  had 
been  sent  to  change  her  go^\^l  for  one  in  her  opinion  far  less  be- 
coming, but  which  suited  Lady  Cumnor's  taste  better.  These  were 
little  things ;  but  they  were  late  samples  of  what  in  different  shapes 
she  had  had  to  endure  for  many  years  ;  and  her  liking  for  Mr,  Gibson 
grew  in  proportion  to  her  sense  of  the  evils  from  which  he  was  going 
to  serve  as  a  means  of  escape.  After  all,  that  interval  of  hope  and 
plain-sewing,  intermixed  though  it  was  by  tuition,  was  not  disagree- 
able. Her  wedding-dress  was  secure.  Her  former  pupils  at  the 
Towers  were  going  to  present  her  with  that ;  they  were  to  dress  her 
from  head  to  foot  on  the  auspicious  day.  Lord  Cumnor,  as  has 
been  said,  had  given  her  a  hundred  pounds  for  her  trousseau,  and 
had  sent  Mr.  Preston  a  carte-blanche  order  for  the  wedding-breakfast 
in  the  old  hall  in  Ashcombe  Manor-house,  Lady  Cumnor — a  little 
put  out  by  the  marriage  not  being  deferred  till  her  grandchildren's 
Christmas  holidays — had  nevertheless  given  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  an 
excellent  English-made  watch  and  chain  ;  more  clumsy  but  more 
serviceable  than  the  Httle  foreign  elegance  that  had  hung  at  her  side 
so  long,  and  misled  her  so  often. 


PREPARING   FOR   THE   WEDDING.  141 

Her  prcparatlous  were  thus  in  a  very  considerable  state  of  for- 
wardness, while  Mr.  Gibson  had  done  nothing  as  yet  towards  any 
new  arrangement  or  decoration  of  his  house  for  his  intended  bride. 
He  knew  he  ought  to  do  something.  But  what  ?  Where  to  begin, 
when  so  much  was  out  of  order,  and  he  had  so  little  time  for  super- 
intendence ?  At  length  he  came  to  the  wise  decision  of  asking  one 
of  the  Miss  Brownings,  for  old  friendship's  sake,  to  take  the  trouble 
of  preparing  what  was  immediately  requisite  ;  and  resolved  to  leavo 
all  the  more  ornamental  decorations  that  he  proposed,  to  the  taste  of 
his  future  wife.  But  before  making  his  request,  he  had  to  tell  of  his 
engagement,  which  had  hitherto  been  kept  a  secret  from  the  towns- 
people, who  had  set  down  his  frequent  visits  at  the  Towers  to  the 
score  of  the  countess's  health.  He  felt  how  he  should  have  laughed 
in  his  sleeve  at  any  middle-aged  widower  who  came  to  him  with  a 
confession  of  the  kind  he  had  now  to  make  to  Miss  Brownings,  and 
disliked  the  idea  of  the  necessary  call :  but  it  was  to  be  done, 
so  one  evening  he  went  in  "  promiscuous,"  as  they  called  it,  and 
told  them  his  story.  At  the  end  of  the  first  chapter — that  is  to  say, 
at  the  end  of  the  story  of  Mr.  Cose's  calf-love,  Miss  Browning  held 
up  her  hands  in  surprise. 

"  To  think  of  Molly,  as  I  have  held  in  long-clothes,  coming  to 
have  a  lover !  Well,  to  be  sure  !  Sister  Phoebe — "  (she  was  just 
coming  into  the  room),  "  here's  a  piece  of  news  !  Molly  Gibson  has 
got  a  lover !  One  may  almost  say  she's  had  an  offer  !  Mr.  Gibson, 
may  not  one  ? — and  she's  but  sixteen  !  " 

"  Seventeen,  sister,"  said  Miss  Phoebe,  who  piqued  herself  on 
knowing  all  about  dear  Mr.  Gibson's  domestic  affairs.  "  Seventeen, 
the  22nd  of  last  June." 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  Seventeen,  if  you  like  to  call  her 
so  !  "  said  Miss  BrowTiing,  impatiently.  "  The  fact  is  still  the  sarue 
— she's  got  a  lover ;  and  it  seems  to  me  she  was  in  long-clothes  only 
yesterday." 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  her  course  of  true  love  will  run  smooth,"  said 
Miss  Phoebe. 

Now  Mr.  Gibson  came  in ;  for  his  story  was  not  half  told,  and 
he  did  not  want  them  to  run  away  too  far  with  the  idea  of  Molly's 
love-affair. 

"  Molly  knows  nothing  about  it.  I  haven't  even  named  it  to  any 
one  but  you  two,  and  to  one  other  friend.  I  trounced  Coxe  well, 
and  did  my  best  to  keep  his  attachment — as  he  calls  it — in  bounds. 


142  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

But  I  was  sadly  puzzled  what  to  do  about  Molly.  Miss  Eyre  was 
away,  and  I  couldn't  leave  them  in  the  house  together  without  any 
older  woman." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gibson !  why  did  you  not  send  her  to  us  ?  "  broke  in 
Miss  Browning.  "  We  would  have  done  anything  in  our  power  for 
you ;  for  your  sake,  as  well  as  her  poor  dear  mother's." 

"  Thank  you.  I  know  you  would,  but  it  wouldn't  have  done  to 
have  had  her  in  HoUingford,  just  at  the  time  of  Coxe's  effervescence. 
He's  better  now.  His  appetite  has  come  back  with  double  force, 
after  the  fasting  he  thought  it  right  to  exhibit.  He  had  three 
helpings  of  black-currant  dumpling  yesterday." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  most  liberal,  Mr.  Gibson.  Three  helpings  ! 
And,  I  daresay,  butcher's  meat  in  proportion  ?  " 

"Oh!  I  only  named  it  because,  with  such  very  young  men,  it's 
generally  see-saw  between  appetite  and  love,  and  I  thought  the  third 
helping  a  very  good  sign.  But  still,  you  know,  what  has  happened 
once,  may  happen  again." 

"  I  don't  know.     Phoebe  had  an  offer  of  marriage  once "  said 

Miss  Browning. 

"Hush!  sister.  It  might  hurt  his  feelings  to  have  it  spoken 
about." 

"Nonsense,  child!  It's  five-and-twenty  years  ago;  and  his 
eldest  daughter  is  married  herself." 

"  I  own  he  has  not  been  constant,"  pleaded  Miss  Phoebe,  in  her 
tender,  piping  voice.  "  All  men  are  not — like  you,  Mr.  Gibson — 
faithful  to  the  memory  of  their  first-love." 

Mr.  Gibson  winced.  Jeannie  was  his  first  love  ;  but  her  name 
had  never  been  breathed  in  HoUingford.  His  wife — good,  pretty, 
sensible,  and  beloved  as  she  had  been — was  not  his  second ;  no,  nor 
his  third  love.  And  now  he  was  come  to  make  a  confidence  about 
his  second  marriage. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he  ;  "  at  any  rate,  I  thought  I  must  do  some- 
thing to  protect  Molly  from  such  affairs  while  she  was  so  young,  and 
before  I  had  given  my  sanction.  Miss  Eyre's  little  nephew  fell  ill  of 
scarlet  fever " 

"  Ah  !  by-the-by,  how  careless  of  me  not  to  inquire.  How  is 
the  poor  little  fellow  ?  " 

"  Worse — better.  It  doesn't  signify  to  what  I've  got  to  say  now  ; 
the  fact  was.  Miss  Eyre  couldn't  come  back  to  my  house  for  some 
time,  and  I  cannot  leave  Molly  altogether  at  Hamley." 


PREPARING   FOR   THE   WEDDING.  143 

"All  I  I  see  now,  wliy  there  was  tliat  suclclen  visit  to  Hamlcy. 
Upon  my  word,  it's  quite  a  romance." 

"  I  do  like  hearing  of  a  love-aflair,"  murmured  Miss  Phoebe. 

"  Then  if  you'll  let  me  get  on  with  my  story,  you  shall  hear  of 
mine,"  said  Mr.  Gibson,  quite  beyond  his  patience  with  their  constant 
interruptions. 

"  Yours  !  "  said  Miss  Phoebe,  faintly. 

"Bless  us  and  save  us!  "  said  Miss  Browning,  with  less  senti- 
ment in  her  tone  ;   "  what  next  ?  " 

"My  marriage,  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Gibson,  choosing  to  take  her 
expression  of  intense  surprise  literally.  "  And  that's  what  I  came  to 
speak  to  you  about." 

A  little  hope  darted  up  in  Miss  Phoebe's  breast.  She  had  often 
said  to  her  sister,  in  the  confidence  of  curling-time  (ladies  wore  curls 
in  those  days),  "  that  the  only  man  who  could  ever  bring  her  to  think 
of  matrimony  was  Mr.  Gibson  ;  but  that  if  he  ever  proposed,  she 
should  feel  bound  to  accept  him,  for  poor  dear  Mary's  sake  ;  "  never 
explaining  what  exact  style  of  satisfaction  she  imagined  she  should 
give  to  her  dead  friend  by  marrying  her  late  husband.  Phoebe 
played  nervously  with  the  strings  of  her  black  silk  apron.  Like  the 
Caliph  in  the  Eastern  story,  a  whole  lifetime  of  possibilities  passed 
through  her  mind  in  an  instant,  of  which  possibilities  the  question  of 
questions  was.  Could  she  leave  her  sister  ?  Attend,  Phoebe,  to  the 
present  moment,  and  listen  to  what  is  being  said  before  you  distress 
yourself  with  a  perplexity  which  will  never  arise. 

"  Of  course  it  has  been  an  anxious  thing  for  me  to  decide  who  I 
should  ask  to  be  the  mistress  of  my  family,  the  mother  of  my 
girl ;  but  I  think  I've  decided  rightly  at  last.  The  lady  I  have 
chosen " 

"  Tell  us  at  once  who  she  is,  there's  a  good  man,"  said  straighi- 
forward  Miss  Browning. 

"Mrs.  Kii-kpatrick,"  said  the  bridegroom  elect. 

*'  "What !  the  governess  at  the  Towers,  that  the  countess  makes 
so  much  of?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  much  valued  by  them — and  deservedly  so.  She 
keeps  a  school  now  at  Ashcombe,  and  is  accustomed  to  housekeeping. 
She  has  brought  up  the  young  ladies  at  the  Towers,  and  has  a 
daughter  of  her  own,  therefore  it  is  probable  she  will  have  a  kind, 
motherly  feeling  towards  Molly." 

"  She's  a  very  elegant-looking  woman,"  said  Miss  Phoebe,  feeling 


14-1  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

it  incumbent  upon  her  to  say  something  laudatory,  by  way  of  con- 
cealing the  thoughts  that  had  just  been  passing  through  her  mind. 
"  I've  seen  her  in  the  carriage,  riding  backwards  with  the  countess  : 
a  very  pretty  woman,  I  should  say." 

"  Nonsense,  sister,"  said  Miss  Browning.  "  What  has  her 
elegance  or  prettiness  to  do  with  the  affair  '?  Did  you  ever  know  a 
widower  marry  again  for  such  trifles  as  those  ?  It's  always  from  a 
sense  of  duty  of  one  kind  or  another — isn't  it,  Mr.  Gibson  ?  They 
want  a  housekeeper;  or  they  want  a  mother  for  their  children  ;  or 
they  think  their  last  wife  would  have  liked  it." 

Pei'haps  the  thought  had  passed  through  the  elder  sister's  mind 
that  Phoobe  might  have  been  chosen,  for  there  was  a  shai-p  acrimony 
in  her  tone ;  not  unfamiliar  to  Mr.  Gibson,  but  with  which  he  did 
not  choose  to  cope  at  this  present  moment. 

"You  must  have  it  your  own  way,  Miss  Browning.  Settle  my 
motives  for  me.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  quite  clear  about  them 
myself.  But  I  am  clear  in  wishing  heartily  to  keep  my  old  friends, 
and  for  them  to  love  my  future  wife  for  my  sake.  I  don't  know  any 
two  women  in  the  world,  except  Molly  and  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick,  I  regard 
as  much  as  I  do  you.  Besides,  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  will  let 
Molly  come  and  stay  with  you  till  after  my  marriage  ?" 

"  You  might  have  asked  us  before  you  asked  Madame  Hamley," 
said  Miss  Browning,  only  half  mollified.  "  We  are  your  old  friends  ; 
and  we  were  her  mother's  friends,  too  ;  though  we  are  not  county 
folk." 

"  That's  unjust,"  said  Mr.  Gibson.     "  And  you  know  it  is." 
"  I  don't  know.     You  are  always  with  Lord  Hollingford,  when 
you  can  get  at  him,  much  more  than  you  ever  are  with  Mr.  Good- 
enough,  or  Mr.  Smith.     And  you  are  always  going  over  to  Hamley." 
Miss  Browning  was  not  one  to  give  in  all  at  once. 
"  I  seek  Lord  Hollingford  as  I  should  seek  such  a  man,  whatever 
his  rank  or  position  might  be :  usher  to  a  school,  cai-penter,  shoe- 
jnaker,  if  it  were  possible  for  them  to  have  had  a  similar  character  of 
mind  developed  by  similar  advantages.     Mr.  Goodcnough  is  a  very 
clever   attorney,    with    strong    local    interests    and   not    a   thought 
beyond." 

'*  Well,  well,  don't  go  on  arguing,  it  always  gives  me  a  headache, 
as  Phoebe  knows.  I  didn't  mean  what  I  said,  that's  enough,  isii't 
it  ?  I'll  retract  anything  sooner  than  be  reasoned  with.  Where 
were  we  before  you  began  your  arguments  '?  " 


TREPARING   FOR   THE   WEDDING.  145 

"  About  dear  little  Molly  coming  to  pay  us  a  visit,"  said  Miss 
Phoebe. 

"I  should  have  asked  you  at  first,  only  Coxe  was  so  rampant 
with  his  love.  I  didn't  know  what  he  might  do,  or  how  troublesome 
he  might  be  both  to  Molly  and  you.  But  he  has  cooled  down  now. 
Absence  has  had  a  very  tranquillizing  effect,  and  I  think  Molly  may 
be  in  the  same  town  with  him,  without  any  consequences  beyond  a 
few  sighs  eveiy  time  she's  brought  to  his  mind  by  meeting  her.  And 
I've  got  another  favour  to  ask  of  you,  so  you  see  it  would  never  do 
for  me  to  argue  with  you.  Miss  Browning,  when  I  ought  to  be  a 
humble  suppliant.  Something  must  be  done  to  the  house  to  make  it 
all  ready  for  the  future  Mrs.  Gibson.  It  wants  painting  and  papering 
shamefully,  and  I  should  think  some  new  furniture,  but  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  what.  Would  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to  look  over  the 
place,  and  see  how  far  a  hundred  pounds  will  go  ?  The  dining- 
room  walls  must  be  painted ;  we'll  keep  the  drawing-room  paper  for 
her  choice,  and  I've  a  little  spare  money  for  that  room  for  her  to  lay 
out ;  but  all  the  rest  of  the  house  I'll  leave  to  you,  if  you"ll  only  b& 
kind  enough  to  help  an  old  friend." 

This  was  a  commission  which  exactly  gratified  Miss  Browning's, 
love  of  power.  The  disposal  of  money  involved  patronage  of  trades- 
people, such  as  she  had  exercised  in  her  father's  lifetime,  but  had 
very  little  chance  of  showing  since  his  death.  Her  usual  good- 
humour  v/as  quite  restored  by  this  proof  of  confidence  in  her  taste 
and  economy,  while  Miss  Phoebe's  imagination  dwelt  rather  on  the 
pleasure  of  a  visit  from  Molly. 


Vol.  I.  10 


14G 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MOLLY   GIBSON'S  NEW  FRIENDS. 

Time  was  speeding  on ;  it  was  now  the  middle  of  August, — if  any- 
thing was  to  be  done  to  the  house,  it  must  be  done  at  once.  Indeed, 
in  several  ways  Mr.  Gibson's  arrangements  with  Miss  Browning  had 
not  been  made  too  soon.  The  squire  had  heard  that  Osborne 
might  probably  return  home  for  a  few  days  before  going  abroad  ; 
and,  though  the  growing  intimacy  between  Roger  and  Molly  did  not 
alarm  him  in  the  least,  yet  he  was  possessed  by  a  veiy  hearty  panic 
lest  the  heir  might  take  a  fancy  to  the  surgeon's  daughter ;  and  he 
was  in  such  a  fidget  for  her  to  leave  the  house  before  Osborne  came 
home,  that  his  wife  lived  in  constant  terror  lest  he  should  make  it 
too  obvious  to  their  visitor. 

Every  young  girl  of  seventeen  or  so,  who  is  at  all  thoughtful, 
is  very  apt  to  make  a  Pope  out  of  the  first  person  who  presents  to 
her  a  new  or  larger  system  of  duty  than  that  by  which  she  has  been 
unconsciously  guided  hitherto.  Such  a  Pope  was  Pioger  to  Molly  ; 
she  looked  to  his  opinion,  to  his  authority  on  almost  every  subject, 
yet  he  had  only  said  one  or  two  things  in  a  terse  manner  which 
gave  them  the  force  of  precepts — stable  guides  to  her  conduct — and 
had  shown  the  natural  superiority  in  wisdom  and  knowledge  which 
is  sure  to  exist  between  a  highly  educated  young  man  of  no  common 
intelligence,  and  an  ignorant  girl  of  seventeen,  who  yet  was  well 
capable  of  appreciation.  Still,  although  they  were  drawn  together 
in  this  very  pleasant  relationship,  each  was  imagining  some  one 
very  different  for  the  future  owner  of  their  whole  heart — their 
highest  and  completest  love.  Roger  looked  to  find  a  grand  woman, 
his  equal,  and  his  empress;  beautiful  in  person,  serene  in  v,'isdom, 
ready  for  counsel,  as  was  Egeria.     Molly's  little  wavering  maiden 


MOLLY  GIBSON'S  NEW  FRIENDS.  147 

fancy  dwelt  ou  the  unseen  Osborne,  who  was  now  a  troubadour,  and 
now  a  knight,  such  as  he  wrote  about  in  one  of  his  own  poems ; 
some  one  like  Osborne,  perhaps,  rather  than  Osborne  himself,  for 
she  shrank  from  giving  a  personal  form  and  name  to  the  hero  that 
was  to  be.  The  squire  was  not  unwise  in  wishing  her  well  out  of  the 
house  before  Osborne  came  home,  if  he  was  considering  her  peace  of 
mind.  Yet,  when  she  went  away  from  the  hall  he  missed  her  con- 
stantly ;  it  had  been  so  pleasant  to  have  her  there  fulfilling  all  the 
pretty  offices  of  a  daughter  ;  cheering  the  meals,  so  often  tete-a-tete 
betwixt  him  and  Roger,  with  her  innocent  wise  questions,  her  lively 
interest  in  their  talk,  her  merry  replies  to  his  banter. 

And  Roger  missed  her  too.  Sometimes  her  remarks  had  probed 
into  his  mind,  and  excited  him  to  the  deep  thought  in  which  he 
delighted  ;  at  other  times  he  had  felt  himself  of  real  help  to  her  in 
her  hours  of  need,  and  in  making  her  take  an  interest  in  books, 
which  treated  of  higher  things  than  the  continual  fiction  and  poetry 
which  she  had  hitherto  read.  He  felt  something  like  an  affectionate 
tutor  suddenly  deprived  of  his  most  promising  pupil ;  he  wondered 
how  she  would  go  on  without  him ;  whether  she  would  be  puzzled 
and  disheartened  by  the  books  he  had  lent  her  to  read ;  how  she 
and  her  stepmother  would  get  along  together  ?  She  occupied  his 
thoughts  a  good  deal  those  first  few  days  after  she  left  the  hall. 
Mrs.  Hamley  regretted  her  more,  and  longer  than  did  the  other  two. 
She  had  given  her  the  place  of  a  daughter  in  her  heart ;  and  now 
she  missed  the  sweet  feminine  companionship,  the  playful  caresses, 
the  never-ceasing  attentions  ;  the  very  need  of  sympathy  in  her 
sorrows,  that  Molly  had  shown  so  openly  from  time  to  time  ;  all 
these  things  had  extremely  endeared  her  to  the  tender-hearted 
Mrs.  Hamley. 

Molly,  too,  felt  the  change  of  atmosphere  keenly;  and  She 
blamed  herself  for  so  feeling  even  more  keenly  still.  But  she  could 
not  help  having  a  sense  of  refinement,  which  had  made  her  appre- 
ciate the  whole  manner  of  being  at  the  Hall.  By  her  dear  old  friends 
the  Miss  Brownings  she  was  petted  and  caressed  so  much  that  she 
became  ashamed  of  noticing  the  coarser  and  louder  tones  in  which 
they  spoke,  the  provincialism  of  their  pronunciation,  the  absence  of 
interest  in  things,  and  their  greediness  of  details  about  persons. 
They  asked  her  questions  which  she  was  puzzled  enough  to  answer 
about  her  future  stepmother  ;  her  loyalty  to  her  father  forbidding  her 
to  reply  fully  and  truthfully.     She  was  always  glad  when  they  began 

10—2 


148  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

to  make  inquiries  as  to  every  possible  affair  at  tlie  Hall.  She  had 
teen  so  happy  jthere ;  she  had  liked  them  all,  down  to  the  very 
dogs,  so  thoroughly,  that  it  was  easy  work  replying  :  she  did  not 
mind  telling  them  everything,  even  to  the  style  of  Mrs.  Hamley's 
invalid  dress ;  nor  what  wine  the  squire  drank  at  dinner.  Indeed, 
talking  about  these  things  helped  her  to  recall  the  happiest  time  in 
her  life.  But  one  evening,  as  they  were  all  sitting  together  after 
tea  in  the  little  upstairs  drawing-room,  looking  into  the  High  Street 
— Molly  discoursing  away  on  the  various  pleasures  of  Hamley  Hall, 
and  just  then  telling  of  all  Roger's  wisdom  in  natural  science,  and 
some  of  the  curiosities  he  had  shown  her,  she  was  suddenly  pulled 
up  by  this  little  speech, — 

"You  seem  to  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Roger,  Molly!" 
said  Miss  Browning,  in  a  way  intended  to  convey  a  great  deal  of 
meaning  to  her  sister  and  none  at  all  to  Molly.     But — 

The  man  recovered  of  the  bite  ; 
The  clog  it  was  that  died. 

Molly  was  perfectly  aware  of  Miss  Browning's  emphatic  tone,  though 
at  first  she  was  perplexed  as  to  its  cause ;  while  Miss  Phoebe  was 
just  then  too  much  absorbed  in  knitting  the  heel  of  her  stocking  to 
be  fully  alive  to  her  sister's  words  and  winks. 

"  Yes ;  he  was  very  kind  to  me,"  said  Molly,  slowly,  pondering 
over  Miss  Browning's  manner,  and  unwilling  to  say  more  until  she 
had  satisfied  herself  to  what  the  question  tended. 

"  I  daresay  you  will  soon  be  going  to  Hamley  Hall  again  ?  He's 
not  the  eldest  son,  you  know,  Phoebe !  Don't  make  my  head  ache 
with  your  eternal  'eighteen,  nineteen,'  but  attend  to  the  conversation. 
Molly  is  telling  us  how  much  she  saw  of  Mr.  Roger,  and  how  kind 
he  was  to  her.  I've  always  heard  he  was  a  very  nice  young  man, 
my  dear.  Tell  us  some  more  about  him  !  Now,  Phoebe,  attend ! 
How  was  he  kind  to  you,  Molly  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  told  me  what  books  to  read  ;  and  one  day  he  made  me 
notice  how  many  bees  I  saw " 

"Bees,  child!  What  do  you  mean?  Either  you  or  he  must 
have  been  crazy  !  " 

"  No,  not  at  all.  There  are  more  than  two  hundred  kinds  of 
bees  in  England,  and  he  wanted  me  to  notice  the  difference  between 
them  and  flies.  Miss  Browning,  I  can't  help  seeing  what  you  fancy," 
said  Molly,  as  red  as  fire,  "  but  it  is  very  wrong  ;  it  is  all  a  mistake. 


MOLLY   GIBSON'S   NEW   FRIENDS.  140 

I  won't  speak  another  word  about  Mr.  Roger  or  Hamley  at  all,  if  it 
puts  such  silly  notions  into  your  head." 

"  Highty-tighty !  Here's  a  young  lady  to  be  lecturing  her 
ciders  !  Silly  notions  indeed  !  They  are  in  your  head,  it  seems. 
And  let  me  tell  you,  Molly,  you  are  too  young  to  let  your  mind  be 
running  on  lovers." 

Molly  had  been  once  or  twice  called  saucy  and  impertinent,  and 
certainly  a  little  sauciness  came  out  now. 

"  I  never  said  what  the  '  silly  notion  '  was,  Miss  Browning;  did 
I  now,  Miss  Phoebe  ?  Don't  you  see,  dear  Miss  Phoebe,  it  is  all  her 
own  interpretation,  and  according  to  her  own  fancy,  this  foolish  talk 
about  lovers?" 

Molly  was  flaming  with  indignation  ;  but  she  had  appealed  to  the 
wrong  person  for  justice.  Miss  Phoebe  tried  to  make  peace  after  the 
fashion  of  weak-minded  people,  who  would  cover  over  the  unpleasant 
sight  of  a  sore,  instead  of  trying  to  heal  it. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  my  dear.  It  seems 
to  mo  that  what  Clarinda  was  saying  was  very  true — very  true  indeed  ; 
and  I  think,  love,  you  misunderstood  her ;  or,  perhaps,  she  misun- 
derstood you ;  or  I  may  be  misunderstanding  it  altogether ;  so  we'd 
better  not  talk  any  more  about  it.  What  price  did  you  say  yoit 
were  going  to  give  for  the  drugget  in  Mr.  Gibson's  dining-room, 
sister  ?  " 

So  Miss  Browning  and  Molly  went  on  till  evening,  each  chafed 
and  angiy  with  the  other.  They  wished  each  other  good-night,  going 
through  the  usual  forms  in  the  coolest  manner  possible.  Molly  went 
up  to  her  little  bedroom,  clean  and  neat  as  a  bedroom  could  be,  with 
draperies  of  small  delicate  patchwork — bed-curtains,  window-curtains, 
and  counterpane  ;  a  japanned  toilette-table,  full  of  little  boxes,  with 
a  small  looking-glass  affixed  to  it,  that  distorted  every  face  that  -vfas 
so  unwise  as  to  look  in  it.  This  room  had  been  to  the  child  one  of 
the  most  dainty  and  luxurious  places  ever  seen,  in  comparison  with 
her  own  bare,  white-dimity  bedroom ;  and  now  she  was  sleeping  in  it, 
as  a  guest,  and  all  the  quaint  adornments  she  had  once  peeped  at  as 
a  great  favour,  as  they  were  carefully  wrapped  up  in  cap-paper,  were 
set  out  for  her  use.  And  yet  how  little  she  had  deserved  this  hos- 
pitable care  ;  how  impertinent  she  had  been ;  how  cross  she  had  felt 
ever  since  !  She  was  crying  tears  of  penitence  and  youthful  misery 
when  there  came  a  low  tap  to  the  door.  Molly  opened  it,  and  there 
stood  Miss  Browning,  in  a  wonderful  erection  of  a  nightcap,  and 


150  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

scantily  attired  in  a  coloured  calico  jacket  over  her  scrimpy  aud  short 
white  petticoat. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  asleep,  child,"  said  she,  coming  in  and 
shutting  the  door.  "  But  I  wanted  to  say  to  j-ou  we've  got  wrong 
to-day,  somehow ;  and  I  think  it  was  perhaps  my  doing.  It's  as  well 
Phcehe  shouldn't  know,  for  she  thinks  me  perfect ;  and  when  there's 
only  two  of  us,  we  get  along  hetter  if  one  of  us  thinks  the  other  can 
do  no  wrong.  But  I  rather  think  I  was  a  little  cross.  We'll  not  say 
any  more  about  it,  Molly  ;  only  we'll  go  to  sleep  friends, — aud  friends 
we'll  always  be,  child,  won't  we  ?  Now  give  me  a  kiss,  and  don't 
cry  and  swell  your  eyes  up ; — and  put  out  your  candle  carefully." 

"  I  was  wrong — it  was  my  fault,"  said  Molly,  kissing  her. 

"  Fiddlestick-ends !  Don't  contradict  me !  I  say  it  was  my 
fault,  and  I  won't  hear  another  word  about  it." 

The  next  day  Molly  went  with  Miss  Browning  to  see  the  changes 
going  on  in  her  father's  house.  To  her  they  were  but  dismal  im- 
provements. The  faint  grey  of  the  dining-room  walls,  which  had 
harmonized  well  enough  with  the  deep  crimson  of  the  moreen 
curtains,  and  which  when  well  cleaned  looked  thinly  coated  rather 
than  dirty,  was  now  exchanged  for  a  pink  salmon-colour  of  a  veiy 
glowing  hue ;  and  the  new  curtains  were  of  that  pale  sea-green  just 
coming  into  fashion.  "Very  bright  and  pretty,"  Miss  Browning 
called  it ;  and  in  the  first  renevviug  of  their  love  Molly  could  not  bear 
to  contradict  her.  She  could  only  hope  that  the  green  aud  brown 
drugget  would  tone  down  the  brightness  and  prettiness.  There  was 
scaffolding  here,  scaffolding  there,  and  Betty  scolding  everywhere. 

"  Come  up  now,  and  see  your  papa's  bedroom.  He's  sleeping 
upstairs  in  yours,  that  ever}'thing  may  be  done  up  afresh  in  his." 

Molly  could  just  remember,  in  faint  clear  lines  of  distinctness, 
the  being  taken  into  this  very  room  to  bid  farewell  to  her  dying 
mother.  She  could  see  the  white  linen,  the  white  muslin,  surrounding 
the  pale,  wan  wistful  face,  vath  the  large,  longing  eyes,  yearning  for 
one  more  touch  of  the  little  soft  warm  child,  whom  she  was  too  feeble 
to  clasp  in  her  arms,  already  growing  numb  in  death.  Many  a  time 
when  Molly  had  been  in  this  room  since  that  sad  day,  had  she  seen 
in  vivid  fancy  that  same  wan  wistful  face  lying  on  the  pillow,  the 
outline  of  the  form  beneath  the  clothes ;  and  the  girl  had  not  shrunk 
from  such  visions,  but  rather  cherished  them,  as  preserving  to  her  the 
remembrance  of  her  mother's  outward  semblance.  Her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears,  as  she  followed  Miss  Browning  into  this  room  to  see  it 


MOLLY   GIBSOK'S  KEW   FHIENDS.  151 

under  its  uew  aspect.  Nearly  everything  was  changed — the  position 
of  the  hed  and  the  colour  of  the  furniture  ;  there  was  a  grand 
toilctte-tahle  now,  with  a  glass  upon  it,  instead  of  the  primitive  sub- 
stitute of  the  top  of  a  chest  of  drawers,  with  a  mirror  above  upon 
the  wall,  sloping  downwards  ;  these  latter  tilings  had  served  her 
mother  during  her  short  married  life. 

"  You  see  we  must  have  all  in  order  for  a  lady  who  has  passed  so 
much  of  her  time  in  the  countess's  mansion,"  said  Miss  Browning, 
who  was  now  quite  reconciled  to  the  marriage,  thanks  to  the  pleasant 
employment  of  furnishing  that  had  devolved  upon  her  in  consequence. 
"  Cromer,  the  upholsterer,  wanted  to  persuade  me  to  have  a  sofa  and 
a  writing-table.  These  men  will  say  anything  is  the  fashion,  if  they 
want  to  sell  an  article.  I  said,  '  No,  no,  Cromer  :  bedrooms  are  for 
sleeping  in,  and  sitting-rooms  are  for  sitting  in.  Keep  ereiything  to 
its  right  purpose,  and  don't  try  and  delude  me  into  nonsense.'  Why, 
my  mother  would  haA^e  given  us  a  fine  scolding  if  she  had  ever 
caught  us  in  our  bedrooms  in  the  daytime.  We  kept  our  out-door 
things  in  a  closet  downstairs  ;  and  there  was  a  very  tidy  place  for 
washing  our  hands,  which  is  as  much  as  one  wants  in  the  daytime. 
Stuffing  up  a  bedroom  with  sofas  and  tables  !  I  never  heard  of  such 
a  thing.  Besides,  a  hundred  pounds  won't  last  for  ever.  I  sha'n't 
be  able  to  do  anything  for  your  room,  Molly  !  " 

"  I'm  right  down  glad  of  it,"  said  Molly.  "  Nearly  everything 
in  it  was  what  mamma  had  when  she  lived  with  my  great-uncle.  I 
wouldn't  have  had  it  changed  for  the  world  ;  I  am  so  fond  of  it." 

"  Well,  there's  no  danger  of  it,  now  the  money  is  run  out.  By 
the  way,  Molly,  who's  to  buy  you  a  bridesmaid's  dress  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Molly;  "I  suppose  I  am  to  be  a  brides- 
maid ;  but  no  one  has  spoken  to  me  about  my  di'ess." 

"  Then  I  shall  ask  your  papa." 

"  Please,  don't.  He  must  have  to  spend  a  great  deal  of  money 
just  now.  Besides,  I  would  rather  not  be  at  the  wedding,  if  they'll 
let  me  stay  away." 

"  Nonsense,  child.  Why,  all  the  town  would  be  talking  of  it. 
You  must  go,  and  you  must  be  well  dressed,  for  your  father's  sake." 

But  Mr.  Gibson  had  thought  of  Molly's  di'ess,  although  he  had 
said  nothing  about  it  to  her.  He  had  commissioned  his  future  wife 
to  get  her  what  was  requisite  ;  and  presently  a  very  smart  dressmaker 
came  over  fi*om  the  county-town  to  try  on  a  dress,  which  was  both  so 
simple  and  so  elegant  as  at  once  to  chann  Molly.     When  it  came 


152  AVIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

home  all  ready  to  put  on,  Molly  had  a  i)rivate  dressiug-up  for  the 
Miss  Brownings'  benefit;  and  she  was  almost  startled  when  she 
looked  into  the  glass,  and  saw  the  improvement  in  her  appearance. 
"  I  wonder  if  I'm  pretty,"  thought  she.  "  I  almost  think  I  am — in 
this  kind  of  dress  I  mean,  of  course.  Betty  would  say,  '  fine  feathers 
make  fine  birds.' " 

When  she  went  downstairs  in  her  bridal  attire,  and  with  shy 
blushes  presented  herself  for  inspection,  she  was  greeted  with  a  burst 
of  admiration. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word  !  I  shouldn't  have  known  you."  ("  Fine 
feathers,"  thought  Molly,  and  checked  her  rising  vanity.) 

"  You  are  really  beautiful — isn't  she,  sister  ?  "  said  Miss  Phcebe. 
"  Why,  my  dear,  if  you  w^ere  always  dressed,  you  would  be  prettier 
than  your  dear  mamma,  whom  we  always  reckoned  so  very  personable." 

"  You're  not  a  bit  like  her.  You  favour  your  father,  and  white 
always  sets  off"  a  brown  complexion." 

"  But  isn't  she  beautiful  ?  "  persevered  Miss  Phoebe. 

"  Well !  and  if  she  is,  Providence  made  her,  and  not  she 
herself.  Besides,  the  dressmaker  must  go  shares.  What  a  fine 
India  muslin  it  is  !  it'll  have  cost  a  pretty  penny  ! "' 

Mr.  Gibson  and  Molly  drove  over  to  Ashcombe,  the  night  before 
the  wedding,  in  the  one  yellow  post-chaise  that  Hollingford  possessed. 
They  were  to  be  Mr.  Preston's,  or,  rather,  my  lord's,  guests  at  the 
Manor-house.  The  Manor-house  came  up  to  its  name,  and  delighted 
Molly  at  first  sight.  It  was  built  of  stone,  had  many  gables  and 
mullioned  windows,  and  was  covered  over  with  Virginian  creeper  and 
late-blowing  roses.  Molly  did  not  know  Mr.  Preston,  who  stood  in 
the  doorway  to  greet  hor  father.  She  took  standing  with  him  as  a 
young  lady  at  once,  and  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  met  with  the 
kind  of  behaviour — half  complimentary,  half  flirting — which  some 
men  think  it  necessary  to  assume  with  every  woman  under  five-and- 
twenty.  Mr.  Preston  was  very  handsome,  and  knew  it.  He  was  a 
fair  man,  with  light-brown  hair  and  whiskers ;  grey,  roving,  well- 
shaped  eyes,  with  lashes  darker  than  his  hair  ;  and  a  figure  rendered 
easy  and  supple  by  the  athletic  exercises  in  which  his  excellence  was 
famous,  and  which  had  procured  him  admission  into  much  higher 
society  than  he  was  otherwise  entitled  to  enter.  He  was  a  capital 
cricketer ;  was  so  good  a  shot,  that  any  house  desu'ous  of  reputation 
for  its  bags  on  the  12th  or  the  1st,  was  glad  to  have  him  for  a  guest. 
He  taught  young  ladies  to  play  billiards  on  a  wet  day,  or  went  in  for 


MOLLY   GIBSON'S  NEW   FRIENDS.  153 

the  game  in  serious  earnest  wlien  required.  He  knew  half  the  private 
theatrical  plays  off  hy  heart,  and  was  invaluable  in  arranging  im- 
promptu charades  and  tableaux.  He  had  his  own  private  reasons 
for  wishing  to  get  up  a  flirtation  with  Molly  just  at  this  time ;  he  had 
amused  himself  so  much  with  the  widow  when  she  first  came  to 
Ashcombe,  that  he  fancied  that  the  sight  of  him,  standing  by  her 
less  poHshed,  less  handsome,  middle-aged  husband,  might  be  too 
much  of  a  contrast  to  be  agreeable.  Besides,  he  had  really  a  strong 
passion  for  some  one  else  ;  some  one  who  would  be  absent ;  and  that 
passion  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  conceal.  So  that,  altogether,  he 
had  resolved,  even  had  "the  little  Gibson-girl"  (as  he  called  her) 
been  less  attractive  than  she  was,  to  devote  himself  to  her  for  the 
next  sixteen  hours. 

They  were  taken  by  their  host  into  a  wainscoted  parlour,  where  a 
wood  fire  crackled  and  burnt,  and  the  crimson  curtains  shut  out  the 
waning  day  and  the  outer  chill.  Here  the  table  was  laid  for  dinner  ; 
snowy  table-linen,  bright  silver,  clear  sparkling  glass,  wine  and  an 
autumnal  dessert  on  the  sideboard.  Yet  Mr.  Preston  kept  apologizing 
to  Molly  for  the  rudeness  of  his  bachelor  home,  for  the  smallness  of 
the  room,  the  great  dining-room  being  already  appropriated  by  his 
housekeeper,  in  preparation  for  the  morrow's  breakfast.  And  then 
he  rang  for  a  seiTaut  to  show  Molly  to  her  room.  She  was  taken 
into  a  most  comfortable  chamber ;  a  wood  fire  on  the  hearth,  candles 
lighted  on  the  toilette-table,  dark  woollen  curtains  surrounding  a 
snow-white  bed,  great  vases  of  china  standing  here  and  there. 

"  This  is  my  Lady  Harriet's  room  when  her  ladyship  comes  to 
the  Manor-house  with  my  lord  the  earl,"  said  the  housemaid,  striking 
out  thousands  of  brilliant  sparks  by  a  well-directed  blow  at  a 
smouldering  log.  "Shall  I  help  you  to  dress,  miss?  I  always 
helps  her  ladyship,"  t 

"  Molly,  quite  aware  of  the  fact  that  she  had  but  her  white 
muslin  gown  for  the  wedding  besides  that  she  had  on,  dismissed  the 
good  woman,  and  was  thankful  to  be  left  to  herself. 

"Dinner"  was  it  called?  Why,  it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock; 
and  preparations  for  bed  seemed  a  more  natural  employment  than 
dressing  at  this  hour  of  night.  All  the  dressing  she  could  manage 
was  the  placing  of  a  red  damask  rose  or  two  in  the  band  of  her  grey 
stuff  gown,  there  standing  a  great  nosegay  of  choice  autumnal 
flowers  on  the  toilette-table.  She  did  try  the  efi'ect  of  another 
crimson  rose  in  her  black  hair,  just  above  her  ear ;  it  was  veiy  pretty, 


154  AYIVES  A^'D   EAUGKTEKS. 

but  too  coquettish,  aud  so  she  put  it  back  again.  The  dark-oak 
panels  and  waiuscoting  of  the  whole  house  seemed  to  glow  in  warai 
light ;  there  were  so  many  fires  in  different  rooms,  in  the  hall,  and 
even  one  on  the  landing  of  the  staircase.  Mr.  Preston  must  have 
heard  her  step,  for  he  met  her  in  the  hall,  and  led  her  into  a  small 
di-awing-room,  with  close  folding-doors  on  one  side,  opening  into  the 
larger  drawing-room,  as  he  told  her.  This  room  into  which  she 
entered  reminded  her  a  little  of  Hamley — yellow-satin  upholsteiy  of 
seventy  or  a  hundred  years  ago,  all  delicately  kept  aud  scrupulously 
clean ;  great  Indian  cabinets,  and  china  jars,  emitting  spicy  odours ; 
a  large  blazing  fire,  before  which  her  father  stood  in  his  morning 
dress,  grave  and  thoughtful,  as  he  had  been  all  day. 

"  This  room  is  that  which  Lady  Harriet  uses  when  she  comes 
here  with  her  father  for  a  day  or  two,"  said  Mr.  Preston.  And 
Molly  tried  to  save  her  father  by  being  ready  to  talk  herself. 

"  Does  she  often  come  here  ?  " 

"  Not  often.  But  I  fancy  she  likes  being  here  when  she  does. 
Perhaps  she  finds  it  an  agreeable  change  after  the  more  formal  life 
she  leads  at  the  Towers." 

"  I  should  think  it  was  a  very  pleasant  house  to  stay  at,"  said 
Molly,  remembering  the  look  of  warm  comfort  that  pervaded  it. 
But  a  little  to  her  dismay  Mr.  Preston  seemed  to  take  it  as  a  com- 
pliment to  himself. 

"  I  was  afraid  a  young  lady  like  you  might  perceive  all  the  incon- 
gruities of  a  bachelor's  home.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you^ 
Miss  Gibson.  In  general  I  liv3  pretty  much  in  the  room  in  which 
wo  shall  dine  ;  and  I  have  a  sort  of  agent's  ofiice  in  which  I  keep 
books  and  papers,  aud  receive  callers  on  business." 

Then  they  went  in  to  dinner.  Molly  thought  eveiything  that  was 
served  was  delicious,  aud  cooked  to  the  point  of  perfection  ;  but  they 
did  not  seem  to  satisfy  Mr.  Preston,  who  apologized  to  his  guests 
several  times  for  the  bad  cooking  of  this  dish,  or  the  omission  of  a 
particular  sauce  to  that ;  always  referring  to  bachelor's  house- 
keeping, bachelor's  this  and  bachelor's  that,  till  Molly  grew  quite 
impatient  at  the  word.  Her  father's  depression,  which  was  still 
continuing  and  rendering  him  veiy  silent,  made  her  uneasy ;  yet  she 
wished  to  conceal  it  from  Mr.  Preston ;  and  so  she  talked  away, 
trying  to  obviate  the  sort  of  personal  bearing  which  their  host  would 
give  to  everything.  She  did  not  know  when  to  leave  the  gentlemen, 
but  her  father  made  a  sign  to  her ;  and  she  was  conducted  back  ia 


MOLLY   GIBSON'S   NEW   FRIENDS.  155 

the  yellow  drawing-room  by  Mr.  Preston,  who  made  many  apologies 
for  leaving  her  there  alone.  She  enjoyed  herself  extremely,  how- 
ever, feeling  at  liberty  to  prowl  about,  and  examine  all  the  curiosities 
the  room  contained.  Among  other  things  was  a  Louis  Quinze  cabinet 
with  lovely  miniatures  in  enamel  let  into  the  fine  woodwork.  She 
carried  a  candle  to  it,  and  was  looking  intently  at  these  faces  when 
her  father  and  Mr.  Preston  came  in.  Her  father  still  looked  care- 
worn and  anxious  ;  he  came  up  and  patted  her  on  the  back,  looked 
at  what  she  was  looking  at,  and  then  went  off  to  silence  and  the  fire. 
Mr.  Preston  took  the  candle  out  of  her  hand,  and  threw  himself  into 
her  interests  with  an  air  of  ready  gallantry. 

"  That  is  said  to  be  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Quentin,  a  great  beauty 
at  the  French  Court.  This  is  Madame  du  Barri.  Do  you  see  any 
likeness  in  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Quentin  to  any  one  you  know  ?  "■ 
He  had  lowered  his  voice  a  little  as  he  asked  this  question. 

"  No  !  "  said  Molly,  looking  at  it  again.  •'  I  never  sav/  any  one 
half  so  beautiful." 

"  But  don't  you  see  a  likeness — in  the  eyes  particularly  ?  "  he 
asked  again,  with  some  impatience. 

Molly  tried  hard  to  find  out  a  resemblance,  and  was  again 
unsuccessful. 

"  It  constantly  reminds  me  of — of  Miss  Kirkpatrick." 

"  Does  it  ?  "  said  Molly,  eagerly.  "  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad— I've 
never  seen  her,  so  of  course  I  couldn't  find  out  the  likeness.  You 
know  her,  then,  do  you  ?     Please  tell  me  all  about  her." 

He  hesitated  a  moment  before  speaking.  He  smiled  a  little 
before  replying. 

"  She's  very  beautiful ;  that  of  course  is  understood  when  I  say 
that  this  miniature  does  not  come  up  to  her  for  beauty." 

"  And  besides  ? — Go  on,  please."  ^ 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  besides  '  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  suppose  she's  very  clever  and  accomplished  ?  " 

That  was  not  in  the  least  what  Molly  wanted  to  ask  ;  but  it  was 
difficult  to  word  the  vague  vastness  of  her  unspoken  inquiry. 

"  She  is  clever  naturally;  she  has  picked  up  accomplishments. 
But  she  has  such  a  charm  about  her,  one  forgets  what  she  herself  is 
in  the  halo  that  surrounds  her.  You  ask  me  all  this.  Miss  Gibson, 
and  I  answer  truthfully ;  or  else  I  should  not  entertain  one  young 
lady  with  my  enthusiastic  j)raises  of  another." 

"  I  don't  see  why  not,"  said  Molly.     "  Besides,  if  you  wouldn't 


156  \YIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

do  it  iu  general,  I  tliiuk  you  ought  to  do  it  iu  my  case  ;  for  you, 
perhaps,  don't  know,  but  she  is  coming  to  live  with  us  when  she 
leaves  school,  and  we  are  very  nearly  the  same  age  ;  so  it  will  be 
almost  like  having  a  sister." 

"  She  is  to  live  with  you,  is  she  ?  "  said  Mr.  Preston,  to  whom 
this  intelligence  was  news.  "And  when  is  she  to  leaVe  school  ?  I 
thought  she  would  surely  have  been  at  this  wedding  ;  but  I  was  told 
she  was  not  to  come.     When  is  she  to  leave  school  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  to  be  at  Easter.  You  know  she's  at  Boulogne, 
and  it's  a  long  journey  for  her  to  come  alone  ;  or  else  papa  wished 
for  her  to  be  at  the  marriage  very  much  indeed." 

"  And  her  mother  prevented  it  ? — I  understand." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  her  mother  ;  it  was  the  French  schoolmistress, 
who  didn't  think  it  desirable." 

"  It  comes  to  pretty  much  the  same  thing.  And  she's  to  return 
and  live  with  you  after  Easter  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so.     Is  she  a  grave  or  a  merry  person  ?  " 

"  Never  very  grave,  as  far  as  I  have  seen  of  her.  Sparkling 
would  be  the  word  for  her,  I  think.  Do  you  ever  write  to  her  ?  If 
you  do,  pray  remember  me  to  her,  and  tell  her  how  we  have  been 
talking  about  her — you  and  I." 

"  I  never  write  to  her,"  said  Molly,  rather  shortly. 

Tea  came  in  ;  and  after  that  they  all  went  to  bed.  Molly  heard 
her  father  exclaim  at  the  fire  in  his  bedroom,  and  Mr.  Preston's 
reply— 

"  I  pique  myself  on  my  keen  relish  for  all  creature  comforts,  and 
also  on  my  power  of  doing  without  them,  if  need  be.  My  lord's 
woods  are  ample,  and  I  indulge  myself  with  a  fire  in  my  bedroom 
for  nine  months  in  the  year ;  yet  I  could  travel  in  Iceland  without 
wincing  from  the  cold." 


(     1^7    ) 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MOLLY  FINDS   lEEKSELF   PATRONIZED. 

The  wedding  went  off  mucli  as  such  afiairs  do.  Lord  Cumnor  and 
Lady  Harriet  drove  over  from  the  Towers,  so  the  hour  for  the  cere- 
mony was  as  late  as  possible.  Lord  Cumnor  came  over  to  officiate 
as  the  bride's  father,  and  was  in  more  open  glee  than  either  bride  or 
bridegi'oom,  or  any  one  else.  Lady  Harriet  came  as  a  sort  of 
amateur  bridesmaid,  to  "  share  Molly's  duties,"  as  she  called  it. 
They  went  from  the  Manor-house  in  two  carriages  to  the  church  in 
the  park,  Mr.  Preston  and  Mr.  Gibson  in  one,  and  Molly,  to  her 
dismay,  shut  up  M-ith  Lord  Cumnor  and  Lady  Harriet  in  the  other. 
Lady  Harriet's  gown  of  white  muslin  had  seen  one  or  two  garden- 
parties,  and  was  not  in  the  freshest  order  ;  it  had  been  rather  a  freak 
of  the  young  lady's  at  the  last  moment.  She  was  very  merry,  and 
very  much  inclined  to  talk  to  Molly,  by  way  of  finding  out  what  sort 
of  a  little  personage  Clare  was  to  have  for  her  future  daughter.  She 
began : — 

"  We  mustn't  crush  this  pretty  muslin  dress  of  yours.  Put  it 
over  papa's  knee ;  he  doesn't  mind  it  in  the  least." 

"  What,  my  dear,  a  white  dress ! — no,  to  be  sure  not.  I  ratber 
like  it.  Besides,  going  to  a  wedding,  who  minds  anything  ?  It  would 
be  difi"erent  if  we  were  going  to  a  funeral." 

Molly  conscientiously  strove  to  find  out  the  meaning  of  this 
speech  ;  but  before  she  had  done  so.  Lady  Harriet  spoke  again,  going 
to  the  point,  as  she  always  piqued  herself  on  doing : 

"  I  daresay  it's  something  of  a  trial  to  you,  this  second  marriage 
of  your  father's ;  but  you'll  find  Clare  the  most  amiable  of  women. 
She  always  let  me  have  my  own  way,  and  I've  no  doubt  she'll  let  you 
have  yours." 

"  I  mean  to  tiy  and  like  her,"  said  Molly,  in  a  low  voice,  trying 


158  WIVES  AND   DAUaHTERS. 

hard  to  keep  down  the  tears  that  would  keep  rising  to  her  eyes  this 
morning.     "  I've  seen  very  little  of  her  yet." 

"  Why,  it's  the  very  hest  thing  for  you  that  could  have  happened, 
my  dear,"  said  Lord  Cumnor.  "You're  growing  up  into  a  young 
lady — and  a  very  pretty  young  lady,  too,  if  you'll  allow  an  old  man 
to  say  so — and  who  so  proper  as  your  father's  wife  to  hring  you  out, 
and  show  you  oflf,  and  take  you  to  balls,  and  that  kind  of  thing  ?  I 
always  said  this  match  that  is  going  to  come  off  to-day  was  the  most 
suitable  thing  I  ever  knew  ;  and  it's  even  a  better  thing  for  you  than 
for  the  people  themselves." 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  Lady  Harriet,  who  had  caught  a  sight  of 
Molly's  troubled  face,  "  the  thought  of  balls  is  too  much  for  her  just 
now  ;  but  you'll  like  having  C3'nthia  Kirkpatrick  for  a  companion, 
sha'n't  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Very  much,"  said  Molly,  cheering  up  a  little.  "  Do  you  know 
her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  seen  her  over  and  over  again  when  she  was  a  little 
girl,  and  once  or  twice  since.  She's  the  prettiest  creature  that  you 
ever  saw ;  and  with  eyes  that  mean  mischief,  if  I'm  not  mistaken. 
But  Clare  kept  her  spirit  under  pretty  well  when  she  was  staying 
with  us, — afraid  of  her  being  troublesome,  I  fancy." 

Before  Molly  could  shape  her  nest  question,  they  were  at  the 
church ;  and  she  and  Lady  Harriet  went  into  a  pew  near  the  door  to 
■wait  for  the  bride,  in  v/hose  train  they  were  to  proceed  to  the  altar. 
The  earl  drove  on  alone  to  fetch  her  from  her  own  house,  not 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  It  was  pleasant  to  her  to  be  led  to  the 
hymeneal  altar  by  a  belted  earl,  and  pleasant  to  have  his  daughter  as 
a  volunteer  bridesmaid.  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  in  this  flush  of  small 
gratifications,  and  on  the  brink  of  matrimony  with  a  man  whom  she 
liked,  and  who  would  be  bound  to  support  her  without  any  exertion 
of  her  own,  looked  beamingly  happy  and  handsome.  A  little  cloud 
came  over  her  face  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Preston, — the  sweet  perpetuity 
of  her  smile  was  rather  disturbed  as  he  followed  in  Mr.  Gibson's 
wake.  But  his  face  never  changed  ;  he  bowed  to  her  gravely,  and 
then  seemed  absorbed  in  the  service.  Ten  minutes,  and  all  was  over. 
The  bride  and  bridegroom  were  driving  together  to  the  Manor-house, 
Mr.  Preston  was  walking  thither  by  a  short  cut,  and  Molly  was  again 
in  the  carriage  with  my  lord,  rubbing  his  hands  and  chuckling,  and 
Lady  Harriet,  trying  to  be  kind  and  consolatory,  when  her  silence 
would  have  been  the  best  comfort. 


MOLLY   FINDS  HERSELF   PATRONIZED.  159 

Molly  found  out,  to  her  dismaj-,  that  the  plan  was  for  her  to  return 
with  Lord  Cumnor  and  Lady  Harriet  when  they  went  back  to  the 
Towers  in  the  evening.  In  the  meantime  Lord  Cumnor  had  business 
to  do  with  Mr.  Preston,  and  after  the  happy  couple  had  driven  off  on 
their  week's  holiday  tour,  she  was  to  be  left  alone  with  the  formidable 
Lady  Harriet.  When  they  were  by  themselves  after  all  the  others 
had  been  thus  disposed  of,  Lady  Harriet  sate  still  over  the  drawing- 
room  fire,  holding  a  screen  between  it  and  her  face,  but  gazing 
intently  at  Molly  for  a  minute  or  two.  Molly  was  fully  conscious  of 
this  prolonged  look,  and  was  trying  to  get  up  her  courage  to  return 
the  stare,  when  Lady  Harriet  suddenly  said, — 

"  I  like  you  ; — you  are  a  little  wild  creature,  and  I  want  to 
tame  you.  Come  here,  and  sit  on  this  stool  by  me.  What  is  your 
name  ?  or  what  do  they  call  you  ? — as  North-country  people  would 
express  it." 

"  Molly  Gibson.     My  real  name  is  Mary." 

"  Molly  is  a  nice,  soft-sounding  name.  People  in  the  last 
century  weren't  afraid  of  homely  names  ;  now  we  are  all  so  smart 
and  fine :  no  more  '  Lady  Bettys '  now.  I  almost  wonder  they 
haven't  re-christened  all  the  worsted  and  knitting-cotton  that  bears 
her  name.  Fancy  Lady  Constantia's  cotton,  or  Lady  Anna-Maria's 
worsted." 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  a  Lady  Betty's  cotton,"  said  Molly. 

"  That  proves  you  don't  do  fancy-work !  You'll  find  Clare  will 
set  you  to  it,  though.  She  used  to  set  me  at  piece  after  piece  : 
knights  kneeling  to  ladies ;  impossible  flowers.  But  I  must  do  her 
the  justice  to  add  that  when  I  got  tired  of  them  she  finished  them 
herself.     I  wonder  how  you'll  get  on  together  ?  " 

"  So  do  I !  "  sighed  out  Molly,  under  her  breath. 

"  I  useolj,  to  think  I  managed  her,  till  one  day  an  uncomfortubla 
suspicion  arose  that  all  the  time  she  had  been  managing  me.  Still 
it's  easy  v/ork  to  let  oneself  be  managed ;  at  any  rate  till  one 
wakens  up  to  the  consciousness  of  the  process,  and  then  it  may 
become  amusing,  if  one  takes  it  in  that  light." 

"  I  should  hats  to  be  managed,"  said  Molly,  indignantly.  "  I'll 
tiy  and  do  what  she  wishes  for  papa's  sake,  if  she'll  only  tell  me 
outright ;  but  I  should  dislike  to  be  trapped  into  anything." 

"  Now  I,"  said  Lady  Harriet,  "  am  too  lazy  to  avoid  traps;  and 
I  rather  like  to  remark  the  cleverness  with  which  they're  set.  But 
then,  of  course,  I  know  that  if  I  choose  to  exert  myself,  I  can  break 


160  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

through  the  withes  of  green  flax  with  which  they  try  to  bind  me. 
Now,  perhaps,  you  won't  be  able." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  what  you  mean,"  said  Molly. 

*'  Oh,  well — never  mind  ;  I  daresay  it's  as  well  for  you  that  you 
shouldn't.  The  moral  of  all  I  have  been  saying  is,  '  Be  a  good  girl, 
and  suffer  yourself  to  be  led,  and  you'll  find  your  new  stepmother  the 
sweetest  creature  imaginable.'  You'll  get  on  capitally  with  her,  I 
make  no  doubt.  How  you'll  get  on  with  her  daughter  is  another 
affair ;  but  I  daresay  very  well.  Now  we'll  ring  for  tea  ;  for  I 
suppose  that  heavy  breakfast  is  to  stand  for  our  lunch." 

Mr.  Preston  came  into  the  room  just  at  this  time,  and  Molly  was 
a  little  surprised  at  Lady  Harriet's  cool  manner  of  dismissing  him, 
remembering  as  she  did  how  Mr.  Preston  had  implied  his  intimacy 
with  her  ladyship  the  evening  before  at  dinner-time. 

"  I  cannot  bear  that  sort  of  person,"  said  Lady  Harriet,  almost 
before  he  was  out  of  hearing  ;  "  giving  himself  airs  of  gallantry 
towards  one  to  whom  his  simple  respect  is  all  his  duty.  I  can  talk 
to  one  of  my  father's  labourers  with  pleasure,  while  with  a  man  like 
that  underbred  fop  I  am  all  over  thorns  and  nettles.  What  is  it  the 
Irish  call  that  style  of  creature  ?  They've  some  capital  word  for  it, 
I  know.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I  never  heard  it,"  said  Molly,  a  little  ashamed 
of  her  ignorance. 

"  Oh  !  that  shows  you've  never  read  Miss  Edgeworth's  tales  ; — 
now,  have  you  '?  If  you  had,  you'd  have  recollected  that  there  was 
such  a  word,  even  if  you  didn't  remember  what  it  was.  If  you've 
never  read  those  stoi-ies,  they  would  be  just  the  thing  to  beguile  your 
solitude  —  vastly  improving  and  moral,  and  yet  quite  sufficiently 
interesting.     I'll  lend  them  to  you  while  you're  all  alone." 

"  I'm  not  alone.  I'm  not  at  home,  but  on  a  visit  to  Miss 
Brownings." 

"  Then  I'll  bring  them  to  you.  I  know  the  Miss  Bro-miings  ; 
they  used  to  come  regularly  on  the  schr>ol-day  to  the  Towers. 
Pecksy  and  Flapsy  I  used  to  call  them.  I  like  the  Miss  Brownings  ; 
one  gets  enough  of  respect  from  them  at  any  rate ;  and  I've  always 
wanted  to  see  the  kind  of  menage  of  such  people.  I'll  bring  you  a 
whole  pile  of  Miss  Edgeworth's  stories,  my  dear." 

Molly  sate  quite  silent  for  a  minute  or  two ;  then  she  mustered 
up  courage  to  speak  out  what  was  in  her  mind. 

"  Your  ladyship  "  (the  title  was  the  firstfruits  of  the  lesson,  as 


MOLLY  FINDS  HERSELF  PATllONIZED.  IGl 

Molly  took  it,  on  paying  duo  respect) — "  your  ladyship  keeps  speak- 
ing of  the  sort  of — the  class  of  people  to  which  I  belong  as  if  it  was 
a  kind  of  strange  animal  you  were  talking  about ;  yet  you  talk  so 
openly  to  me  that " 

"  Well,  go  on — I  like  to  hear  you." 

Still  silence. 

"  You  think  me  in  your  heart  a  little  impertinent — now,  don't 
you  ?  "  said  Lady  Harriet,  almost  kindly. 

Molly  held  her  peace  for  two  or  three  moments ;  then  she  lifted 
her  beautiful,  honest  eyes  to  Lady  Harriet's  face,  and  said, — 

"  Yes  ! — -a  little.     But  I  think  you  a  great  many  other  things." 

"We'll  leave  the  'other  things'  for  the  present.  Don't  you 
see,  little  one,  I  talk  after  my  kind,  just  as  you  talk  after  j'our  kind. 
It's  only  on  the  surface  with  both  of  us.  Why,  I  daresay  some 
of  your  good  Holliugford  ladies  talk  of  the  poor  people  in  a  manner 
which  they  would  consider  as  impertinent  in  their  turn,  if  they  could 
hear  it.  But  I  ought  to  be  more  considerate  when  I  remember  how 
often  my  blood  has  boiled  at  the  modes  of  speech  and  behaviour  of 

one  of  my  aunts,  mamma's  sister.  Lady No  !  I  won't  name  names. 

Any  one  who  earns  his  livelihood  by  any  exercise  of  head  or  hands, 
from  professional  people  and  rich  merchants  down  to  labourers,  she 
calls  '  persons.'  She  would  never  in  her  most  slip-slop  talk  accord 
them  even  the  conventional  title  of  '  gentlemen ;'  and  the  way  in  which 
she  takes  possession  of  human  beings,  '  my  woman,'  '  my  people,' — 
but,  after  all,  it  is  only  a  way  of  speaking.  I  ought  not  to  have  used 
it  to  you  ;  but  somehow  I  separate  you  from  all  these  HoUingford 
people." 

"  But  why  ?  "  persevered  Molly.     "  I'm  one  of  them." 

"  Yes,  you  are.  But — now  don't  reprove  me  again  for  imperti- 
nence— most  of  them  are  so  unnatural  in  their  exaggerated  respect 
and  admiration  when  they  come  up  to  the  Towers,  and  put  on  so 
much  pretence  by  way  of  fine  manners,  that  they  only  make  them- 
selves objects  of  ridicu^o.  You  at  least  are  simple  and  truthful,  and 
that's  why  I  separate  you  in  my  own  mind  from  them,  and  have 

talked  unconsciously  to  you  as  I  would -well !  now  here's  another 

piece  of  impertinence — as  I  would  to  my  equal — in  rank,  I  mean  ;  for 
I  don't  set  myself  up  in  solid  things  as  any  better  than  my  neigh- 
bours. Here's  tea,  however,  come  in  time  to  stop  me  from  growing 
too  humble." 

It  was  fi  very  pleasant  little  tea  in  the  fading  September  twilight. 
Vol.  I.  11 


162  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

Just  as  it  was  ended,  in  came  Mr.  Preston  again  : — 

"  Lady  Harriet,  will  you  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  showing  you 
some  alterations  I  have  made  in  the  flower-garden — in  which  I  have 
tried  to  consult  your  taste — hefore  it  grows  dark  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Preston.  I  will  ride  over  with  papa  some  day, 
and  we  will  see  if  we  approve  of  them." 

Mr.  Preston's  hrow  flushed.  But  he  affected  not  to  perceive  Lady 
Harriet's  haughtiness,  and,  turning  to  Molly,  he  said, — 

"  Will  not  you  come  out,  Miss  Gibson,  and  see  something  of  the 
gardens  ?     You  haven't  been  out  at  all,  I  think,  excepting  to  church." 

Molly  did  not  like  the  idea  of  going  out  for  a  tete-a-tete  walk  with 
Mr.  Pi'eston ;  yet  she  pined  for  a  little  fresh  air,  would  have  liked 
to  have  seen  the  gardens,  and  have  looked  at  the  Manor-house  from 
different  aspects ;  and,  besides  this,  much  as  she  recoiled  from  Mr. 
Preston,  she  felt  sorry  for  him  under  the  repulse  he  had  just  received. 

While  she  was  hesitating,  and  slov.dy  tending  towards  consent. 
Lady  Harriet  spoke, — 

"  I  cannot  spare  Miss  Gibson.  If  she  would  like  to  see  the  place, 
I  will  bring  her  over  some  day  myself." 

When  he  had  left  the  room.  Lady  Harriet  said, — 

"  I  daresay  it's  my  own  lazy  selfishness  has  kept  you  indoors  all 
day  against  your  will.  But,  at  any  rate,  you  are  not  to  go  out  walk- 
ing with  that  man.  I've  an  instinctive  aversion  to  him ;  not  entirely 
instinctive  either  ;  it  has  some  foundation  in  fact :  and  I  desire  you 
don't  allow  him  ever  to  get  intimate  with  you.  He's  a  very  clever 
land-agent,  and  does  his  duty  by  papa,  and  I  don't  choose  to  be  taken 
up  for  libel ;  but  remember  what  I  say  !  " 

Then  the  carriage  came  round,  and  after  numberless  last  words 
from  the  earl — who  appeared  to  have  put  off'  every  possible  dii'ection 
to  the  moment  when  he  stood,  like  an  awkward  MercuiT,  balancing 
himself  on  the  step  of  the  carriage — they  drove  back  to  the  Towers. 

*'  Would  you  rather  come  in  and  dine  with  us — we  should  send 
you  home,  of  course — or  go  home  straight  ?  "  asked  Lady  Harriet  of 
Molly.  She  and  her  father  had  both  been  sleeping  till  they  drcvv^  up 
at  the  bottom  of  the  flight  of  steps. 

"  Tell  the  truth,  novy-  and  evermore.  Truth  is  generally  amusing, 
if  it's  nothing  else  !  " 

"  I  would  rather  go  back  to  Miss  Brownings'  at  once,  please," 
said  I\Iolly,  v.'ith  a  nightmare-like  recollection  of  the  last,  the  only 
evening  she  had  spent  at  the  Towers. 


Unttelcome   Attentions 


MOLLY  FINDS   HERSELF   PATRONIZED.  163 

Lord  Cummor  was  standing  on  the  steps,  -waiting  to  hand  his 
daughter  out  of  the  carriage.  Lady  Harriet  stopped  to  kiss  Molly 
on  the  forehead,  and  to  say, — 

"  I  shall  come  some  day  soon,  and  hring  you  a  load  of  Miss 
Edgeworth's  tales,  and  make  further  acquaintance  with  Pecksy  and 
Flapsy." 

"  Xo,  don't,  please,"  said  Molly,  taking  hold  of  her,  to  detain 
her.     "  You  must  not  come — indeed  you  must  not." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  would  rather  not — because  I  think  that  I  ought  not 
to  have  any  one  coming  to  see  me  who  laughs  at  the  friends  I  am 
staying  with,  and  calls  them  names."  Molly's  heart  beat  very  fast, 
but  she  meant  every  word  that  she  said. 

"  My  dear  little  woman  !  "  said  Lady  Harriet,  bending  over  her 
and  speaking  quite  gravely.  "  I'm  very  sorry  to  have  called  them 
names — very,  veiy  soiiy  to  have  hurt  you.  If  I  promise  you  to  be 
respectful  to  them  in  word  and  in  deed — and  in  very  thought,  if  I  can — 
jonll  let  me  then,  won't  you  ?  " 

Molly  hesitated.  "  I'd  better  go  home  at  once  ;  I  shall  only  say 
wrong  things — and  there's  Lord  Cumnor  waiting  all  this  time." 

"  Let  him  alone  ;  he's  very  well  amused  hearing  all  the  news  of 
the  day  from  Brown.     Then  I  shall  come — under  promise  ?  " 

So  Molly  drove  off  in  solitary  grandeur ;  and  Miss  Brownings' 
knocker  was  loosened  on  its  venerable  hinges  by  the  never-ending 
peal  of  Lord  Cumnor's  footman. 

They  were  full  of  welcome,  full  of  curiosity.  All  through  the  long 
day  they  had  been  missing  their  bright  young  visitor,  and  three  or 
four  times  in  every  hour  they  had  been  wondering  and  settling  what 
everybody  was  doing  at  that  exact  minute.  What  had  become  of 
Molly  during  all  the  afternoon,  had  been  a  great  peii)lexity  to  th^  ; 
and  they  were  very  much  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  the  great  honour 
she  had  received  in  being  allowed  to  spend  so  many  hours  alone  with 
Lady  Harriet.  They  were,  indeed,  more  excited  by  this  one  fact 
than  by  all  the  details  of  the  wedding,  most  of  which  they  had  known 
of  beforehand,  and  talked  over  with  much  perseverance  during  the 
day.  Molly  began  to  feel  as  if  there  was  some  foundation  for  Lady 
Harriet's  inclination  to  ridicule  the  worship  paid  by  the  good  people 
of  HoUingford  to  their  liege  lord,  and  to  wonder  with  what  tokens  of 
reverence  they  would  receive  Lady  Harriet  if  she  came  to  pay  her 
promised  visit.     She  had  never  thought  of  concealing  the  probability 

11—2 


164  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

of  this  call  nutil  this  eveulug ;  but  now  she  felt  as  if  it  would  be 
better  not  to  speak  of  the  chance,  as  she  was  not  at  all  sure  that  the 
promise  would  be  fulfilled. 

Before  Lady  Harriet's  call  was  paid,  Molly  received  another  visit. 

Roger  Hamley  came  riding  over  one  day  with  a  note  from  his 
mother,  and  a  wasps'-ucst  as  a  present  from  himself.  Molly  heard 
'nis  powerful  voice  come  sounding  up  the  little  staircase,  as  he  asked 
if  Miss  Gibson  was  at  home  from  the  servant-maid  at  the  door ;  and 
she  was  half  amused  and  half  annoyed  as  she  thought  how  this  call 
of  his  would  give  colour  to  Miss  Browning's  fancies.  "I  would 
rather  never  be  married  at  all,"  thought  she,  "than  marry  an  ugly 
man, — and  dear  good  Mr.  Roger  is  really  ugly ;  I  don't  think  one 
could  even  call  him  plain."  Yet  Miss  Brownings,  Avho  did  not  look 
upon  young  men  as  if  their  natural  costume  was  a  helmet  and  a  suit 
of  armour,  thought  Mr.  Roger  Hamley  a  very  personable  young  fellow, 
as  he  came  into  the  room,  his  face  flushed  with  exercise,  his  v/hite 
teeth  showing  pleasantly  in  the  courteous  bow  and  smile  he  gave 
to  all  around.  He  knew  the  Miss  Brownings  slightly,  and  talked 
pleasantly  to  them  while  Molly  read  Mrs.  Hamley's  little  missive  of 
sympathy  and  good  wishes  relating  to  the  wedding ;  then  he  turned 
to  her,  and  though  Miss  Brownings  listened  with  all  their  ears,  they 
could  not  find  out  anything  remarkable  either  in  the  words  he  said 
or  the  tone  in  which  they  were  spoken. 

"I've  brought  you  the  wasps'-nest  I  promised  you,  Miss  Gibson. 
There  has  been  no  lack  of  such  things  this  year ;  we've  taken 
seventy-four  on  my  father's  land  alone ;  and  one  of  the  labourers,  a 
poor  fellow  who  ekes  out  his  wages  by  bce-kecpiug,  has  had  a  sad 
misfortune — the  wasps  have  turned  the  bees  out  of  his  seven  hives, 
taken  possession,  and  eaten  up  the  honey." 

"  AVhat  greedy  little  vermin  !  "  said  Miss  Bro-\\aiing. 

Molly  saw  Roger's  eyes  tv/inkle  at  the  misapplication  of  the  word ; 
but  though  he  had  a  strong  sense  of  humour,  it  never  appeared  to 
diminish  his  respect  for  the  people  who  amused  him. 

"  I'm  sure  they  deserve  fire  and  brimstone  more  than  the  poor 
dear  innocent  bees,"  said  Miss  Phoebe.  "  And  then  it  seems  so 
ungrateful  of  mankind,  who  arc  going  to  feast  on  the  honey  !  "  She 
sighed  over  the  thought,  as  if  it  was  too  much  for  her. 

While  Molly  finished  reading  her  note,  he  explained  its  contents 
to  Miss  Browning. 

"My  brother  and  I  arc  going  with  my  father  to  an  agricultural 


MOLLY   FINDS   HERSELF   PATRONIZED.  '  165 

meeting  at  Canonbury  on  Thursday,  and  my  mother  desired  me  to 
say  to  you  how  very  much  obliged  she  should  be  if  you  would  spare 
her  Miss  Gibson  for  the  day.  She  was  very  anxious  to  ask  for  the 
pleasure  of  your  company,  too,  but  she  really  is  so  poorly  that  we 
persuaded  her  to  be  content  with  Miss  Gibson,  as  she  wouldn't 
scruple  leaving  a  young  lady  to  amuse  herself,  which  she  would  be 
unvi-illing  to  do  if  you  and  your  sister  were  there." 

"  I'm  sure  she's  very  kind  ;  very.  Nothing  would  have  given  us 
more  pleasure,"  said  Miss  Browning,  drawing  herself  up  in  gratified 
dignity.  "  Oh,  yes,  we  quite  understand,  Mr.  Koger ;  and  we  fully 
recognize  Mrs.  Hamley's  kind  intention.  We  will  take  the  will  for 
the  deed,  as  the  common  people  express  it.  I  believe  that  there 
was  an  intermarriage  between  the  Brownings  and  the  Hamleys,  a 
generation  or  two  ago." 

"  I  daresay  there  was,"  said  Koger.  "  My  mother  is  very 
delicate,  and  obliged  to  humour  her  health,  which  has  made  her 
keep  aloof  from  society." 

"  Then  I  may  go  ?"  said  Molly,  sparkling  with  the  idea  of  seeing 
licr  dear  Mrs.  Hamley  again,  yet  afraid  of  appearing  too  desirous  of 
leaving  her  kind  old  friends. 

"  To  be  sure,  my  dear.  "Write  a  pretty  note,  and  tell  Mrs.  Hamley 
how  much  obliged  to  her  we  are  for  thinking  of  us." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  wait  for  a  note,"  said  Roger.  "  I  must  take 
a  message  instead,  for  I  have  to  meet  my  father  at  one  o'clock,  and 
it's  close  upon  it  now." 

When  he  was  gone,  Molly  felt  so  light-hearted  at  the  thoughts  of 
Thursday  that  she  could  hardly  attend  to  what  the  Miss  Brownings 
were  saying.  One  was  talking  about  the  pretty  muslin  gown  which 
Molly  had  sent  to  the  Avash  only  that  morning,  and  contriving  how  it 
could  be  had  back  again  in  time  for  her  to  wear ;  and  the  other, 
Miss  Phoabe,  totally  inattentive  to  her  sister's  speaking  for  a  wonder, 
was  piping  out  a  separate  strain  of  her  own,  and  singing  Pioger 
Hamley's  praises. 

"  Such  a  fine-looking  young  man,  and  so  courteous  and  affable. 
Like  the  young  men  of  our  youth  now,  is  he  not,  sister  ?  And  yet 
they  all  say  Mr.  Osborne  is  the  handsomest.  What  do  you  think, 
child?" 

"  I've  never  seen  Mr.  Osborne,"  said  Molly,  blushing,  and 
hating  herself  for  doing  so.  Why  was  it  ?  She  had  never  seen  him 
as  she  said.     It  was  only  that  her  fancy  had  dwelt  on  him  so  much. 


166  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTEES. 

He  was  gone — all  the  gentlemen  were  gone  before  tlie  carriage, 
wliicli  came  to  fetch  Molly  on  Thursday,  reached  Hamley  Hall.  But 
Molly  was  almost  glad,  she  was  so  much  afraid  of  being  disapjoointed. 
Besides,  she  had  her  dear  Mrs.  Hamley  the  more  to  herself;  the 
quiet  sit  in  the  morning-room,  talking  poetry  and  romance  ;  the  mid- 
day saunter  into  the  garden,  brilliant  with  autumnal  flowers  and 
glittering  dew-drops  on  the  gossamer  webs  that  stretched  from  scarlet 
to  blue,  and  thence  to  purple  and  yellow  petals.  As  they  were 
sitting  at  lunch,  a  strange  man's  voice  and  step  were  heard  in  the 
hall ;  the  door  was  opened,  and  a  young  man  came  in,  who  could  be 
no  other  than  Osborne.  He  was  beautiful  and  languid-looking, 
almost  as  frail  in  appearance  as  his  mother,  whom  he  strongly 
resembled.  This  seeming  delicacy  made  him  appear  older  than  he 
was.  He  was  dressed  to  perfection,  and  yet  with  easy  carelessness. 
He  came  up  to  his  mother,  and  stood  by  her,  holding  her  baud, 
while  his  eyes  sought  Molly,  not  boldly  or  impertinently,  but  as  if 
appraising  her  critically. 

"  Yes  !  I'm  back  again.  Bullocks,  I  find,  are  not  in  my  line. 
I  only  disappointed  my  father  in  not  being  able  to  appreciate  their 
merits,  and,  I'm  afraid,  I  didn't  care  to  learn.  And  the  smell  was 
insufierable  on  such  a  hot  day." 

"  My  dear  boy,  don't  make  apologies  to  me  ;  keep  them  for  your 
father.  I'm  only  too  glad  to  have  you  back.  Miss  Gibson,  this  tall 
fellow  is  my  son  Osborne,  as  I  daresay  you  have  guessed.  Osborne — 
Miss  Gibson.     Now,  what  will  you  have  ?" 

He  looked  round  the  table  as  he  sate  down.  "  Nothing  here," 
said  he.     "  Isn't  there  some  cold  game-pie  ?     I'll  ring  for  that." 

Molly  was  trying  to  reconcile  the  ideal  with  the  real.  The  ideal 
was  agile,  yet  powerful,  with  Greek  features  and  an  eagle-eye, 
capable  of  enduring  long  fasting,  and  indifferent  as  to  what  he  ate. 
The  real  was  almost  effeminate  in  movement,  though  not  in  figure ; 
he  had  the  Greek  features,  but  his  blue  eyes  had  a  cold,  w^ary 
expression  in  them.  He  was  dainty  in  eating,  and  had  anything  but 
a  Homeric  appetite.  However,  Molly's  hero  was  not  to  eat  more 
than  Ivanhoe,  when  he  was  Friar  Tuck's  guest ;  and,  after  all,  with 
a  little  alteration,  she  began  to  think  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  might 
turn  out  a  poetical,  if  not  a  chivalrous  hero.  He  was  extremely 
attentive  to  his  mother,  which  pleased  Molly,  and,  in  return, 
Mrs.  Hamley  seemed  charmed  with  him  to  such  a  degree  that  Molly 
once  or  twice  fancied  that  mother  and  son  would  have  been  happier 


MOLLY  FINDS  HERSELF  PATRONIZED.  167 

in  lier  absence.  Yet,  again,  it  struck  on  tlie  skrewd,  if  simple  girl, 
that  Osborne  was  mentally  squinting  at  her  in  the  conversation  which 
was  directed  to  his  mother.  There  were  little  turns  and  *  fioriture ' 
of  speech  which  Molly  could  not  help  feeling  were  graceful  antics  of 
language  not  common  in  the  simple  daily  intercourse  between  mother 
and  son.  But  it  was  flattering  rather  than  otherwise  to  perceive  that 
a  very  fine  young  man,  who  was  a  poet  to  boot,  should  think  it  worth 
while  to  talk  on  the  tight  rope  for  her  benefit.  And  before  the 
afternoon  was  ended,  without  there  having  been  any  direct  conversa- 
tion between  Osborne  and  Molly,  she  had  reinstated  him  on  his 
throne  in  her  imagination  ;  indeed,  she  had  almost  felt  herself  dis- 
loyal to  her  dear  Mrs.  Hamley  when,  in  the  first  hour  after  her 
introduction,  she  had  questioned  his  claims  on  his  mother's  idolatiy. 
His  beauty  came  out  more  and  more,  as  he  became  animated  in  some 
discussion  with  her;  and  all  his  attitudes,  if  a  little  studied,  were 
graceful  in  the  extreme.  Before  Molly  left,  the  squire  and  Roger 
returned  from  Canonbury. 

"  Osborne  here  1 "  said  the  squire,  red  and  panting.  "  Why  the 
deuce  couldn't  you  tell  us  you  were  coming  home  "?  I  looked  about 
for  you  everywhere,  just  as  we  were  going  into  the  ordinary.  I 
wanted  to  introduce  you  to  Grantley,  and  Fox,  and  Lord  Forrest — 
men  from  the  other  side  of  the  county,  whom  you  ought  to  know ; 
and  Roger  there  missed  above  half  his  dinner  hunting  about  for  you ; 
and  all  the  time  you'd  stole  away,  and  were  quietly  sitting  here  with 
the  women.  I  wish  you'd  let  me  know  the  next  time  you  make  ofi. 
I've  lost  half  my  pleasure  in  looking  at  as  fine  a  lot  of  cattle  as  I 
ever  saw,  with  thinking  you  might  be  having  one  of  your  old  attacks 
of  faintness."' 

"  I  should  have  had  one,  I  think,  if  I'd  stayed  longer  in  that 
atmosphere.     But  I'm  sorry  if  I've  caused  you  anxiety."  '' 

"Well!  well!"  said  the  squire,  somewhat  mollified.  "And 
Roger,  too, — there  I've  been  sending  him  here  and  sending  him 
there  all  the  afternoon."  4. 

"  I  didn't  mind  it,  sir.  I  was  only  soriy  you  were  so  uneasy.  I 
thought  Osborne  had  gone  home,  for  I  knew  it  wasn't  much  in  his 
way,"  said  Roger. 

Molly  intercepted  a  glance  between  the  two  brothers — a  look  of 
true  confidence  and  love,  which  suddenly  made  her  like  them  both 
under  the  aspect  of  relationship — new  to  her  observation. 

Roger  came  up  to  her,  and  sat  down  by  her. 


168  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  Well,  and  how  are  you  getting  on  with  Huher;  don't  you  find 
him  very  interesting  ?" 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Molly,  penitently,  "I  haven't  read  much. 
Miss  Brownings  like  me  to  talk ;  and,  besides,  there  is  so  much  to 
do  at  home  before  papa  comes  back ;  and  Miss  Browning  doesn't  like 
me  to  go  without  her.  I  know  it  sounds  nothing,  but  it  does  take 
np  a  great  deal  of  time." 

"  When  is  your  father  coming  back  ?  " 

"  Next  Tuesday,  I  believe.     He  cannot  stay  long  away." 

"  I  shall  ride  over  and  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Gibson,"  said  he. 
"  I  shall  come  as  soon  as  I  may.  Your  father  has  been  a  very  kind 
friend  to  me  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  And  when  I  come,  I  shall 
expect  my  pupil  to  have  been  very  diligent,"  he  concluded,  smiling 
his  kind,  pleasant  smile  at  idle  Molly. 

Then  the  carriage  came  round,  and  she  had  the  long  solitary 
drive  back  to  Miss  Brownings'.  It  was  dark  out  of  doors  when  she 
got  there ;  but  Miss  Phoebe  was  standing  on  the  stairs,  with  a 
lighted  candle  in  her  hand,  peering  into  the  darkness  to  see  Molly 
come  in. 

"  Oh,  Molly  !  I  thought  you'd  never  come  back.  Such  a  piece 
of  news  !  Sister  has  gone  to  bed  ;  she's  had  a  headache — with  the 
excitement,  I  think ;  but  she  says  it's  new  bread.  Come  upstairs 
softly,  my  dear,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is  !  Who  do  you  think  has 
bsen  here, — drinking  tea  with  us,  too,  in  the  most  condescending 
manner  ?" 

"  Lady  Harriet  ?  "  said  Molly  suddenly  enlightened  by  the  word 
*  condescending.' 

"  Yes.  Why,  how  did  j'ou  guess  it?  But,  after  all,  her  call,  at 
any  rate  in  the  first  instance,  was  upon  you.  Oh,  dear  Molly  !  if 
you're  not  in  a  hurry  to  go  to  bed,  let  me  sit  down  quietly  and  tell 
you  all  about  it ;  for  my  heart  jumps  into  my  mouth  still  when  I 
think  of  how  I  was  caught.  She — that  is,  her  ladyship — left  the 
carriage  at  '..Jhe  George,'  and  took  to  her  feet  to  go  shopping — just 
as  you  or  I  may  have  done  many  a  time  in  our  lives.  And  sister 
was  taking  her  forty  winks  ;  and  I  was  sitting  with  my  gown  up 
above  my  keees  and  my  feet  on  the  fender,  pulling  out  my  grand- 
mother's lace  which  I'd  been  washing.  The  worst  has  yet  to  be  told. 
I'd  taken  off  my  cap,  for  I  thought  it  was  getting  dusk  and  no  one 
would  come,  and  there  was  I  in  my  black  silk  skull-cap,  when  Nancy 
put  her  head  in,  and  whispered,  '  There's  a  lady  downstairs — a  real 


MOLLY   FINDS   HERSELF   PATRONIZED.  1G9 

grfincl  one,  by  lier  talk  ;'  and  in  there  came  my  Lady  Harriet,  so 
sweet  and  pretty  in  her  ways,  it  was  some  time  before  I  forgot  I  had 
never  a  cap  on.  Sister  never  wakened ;  or  never  roused  up,  so  to 
say.  She  says  she  thought  it  was  Nancy  bringing  in  the  tea  when 
she  heard  some  one  moving ;  for  her  ladyship,  as  soon  as  she  saw 
the  state  of  the  case,  came  and  knelt  down  on  the  rug  by  me,  and 
begged  my  pardon  so  prettily  for  having  followed  Nancy  upstairs 
without  waiting  for  permission ;  and  was  so  taken  by  my  old  lace, 
and  wanted  to  know  how  I  washed  it,  and  where  you  were,  and  when 
you'd  be  back,  and  when  the  happy  couple  would  be  back :  till  sister 
wakened — she's  always  a  little  bit  put  out,  you  know,  when  she  first 
wakens  from  her  afternoon  nap, — and,  without  turning  her  head  to 
sec  who  it  was,  she  said,  quite  sharp, — '  Buzz,  buzz,  buzz  !  When 
will  you  learn  that  whispering  is  more  fidgeting  than  talking  out  loud  ? 
I've  not  been  able  to  sleep  at  all  for  the  chatter  you  and  Nancy  have 
been  keeping  up  all  this  time.'  You  know  that  was  a  little  fancy  of 
sister's,  for  she'd  been  snoring  away  as  naturally  as  could  be.  So  I 
went  to  her,  and  leant  over  her,  and  said  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  '  Sister,  it's  her  ladyship  and  me  that  has  been  conversing.' 
"  '  Ladyship  here,  ladyship  there  !   have   you   lost   your   wits, 
Phoebe,  that  you  talk  such  nonsense — and  in  your  skull-cap,  too  !  " 

"By  this  time  she  was  sitting  up — and,  looking  round  her,  she 
saw  Lady  Harriet,  in  her' velvets  and  silks,  sitting  on  our  rug,  smiling, 
her  bonnet  off,  and  her  pretty  hair  all  bright  with  the  blaze  of  the 
fire.  My  word  !  sister  was  up  on  her  feet  directly ;  and  she  dropped 
her  curtsey,  and  made  her  excuses  for  sleeping,  as  fast  as  might  be, 
while  I  went  off  to  put  on  my  best  cap,  for  sister  might  well  say  I 
was  out  of  my  wits  to  go  on  chatting  to  an  earl's  daughter  in  an  old 
black  silk  skull-cap.  Black  silk,  too  !  when,  if  I'd  only  known  she 
was  coming,  I  might  have  put  on  my  new  brown  silk,  lying  idle  m 
niy  top  drawer.  And  when  I  came  back,  sister  was  ordering  tea  for 
her  ladyship, — our  tea,  I  mean.  So  I  took  my  turn  at  talk,  and 
sister  slipped  out  to  put  on  her  Sunday  silk.  But  I  don't  think  we 
were  quite  so  much  at  our  ease  with  her  ladyship  as  when  I  sat 
pulling  out  my  lace  in  my  skull-cap.  And  she  was  quite  struck  with 
our  tea,  and  asked  where  we  got  it,  for  she  had  never  tasted  any  like 
it  before  ;  and  I  told  her  we  gave  only  3s.  4d.  a  pound  for  it,  at 
Johnson's — (sister  says  I  ought  to  have  told  her  the  price  of  our 
company-tea,  which  is  fis.  a  pound,  only  that  was  not  what  we  were 
drinking ;  for,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  we'd  none  of  it  in  the  house) 


170  AVIVES  AND   DAUGHTEES. 

— and  she  said  she  would  send  us  some  of  liers,  all  tlie  way  from 
Russia  or  Prussia,  or  some  out-of-the-v»'ay  place,  and  we  were  to 
compare  and  see  which  we  liked  Lest ;  and  if  we  liked  hers  best,  she 
could  get  it  for  us  at  3s.  a  pound.  And  she  left  her  love  for  you ; 
and,  though  she  was  going  away,  you  were  not  to  forget  her.  Sister 
thought  such  a  message  would  set  you  up  too  much,  and  told  me 
she  would  not  he  chargeable  for  the  giving  it  you.  '  But,'  I  said, 
*  a  message  is  a  message,  and  it's  on  Molly's  own  shoulders  if  she's 
set  up  by  it.  Let  us  show  her  an  example  of  humility,  sister, 
though  v/e  have  been  sitting  cheek-by-jowl  in  such  company.'  So 
sister  humphed,  and  said  she'd  a  headache,  and  went  to  bed.  And 
now  you  may  tell  me  your  news,  my  dear." 

So  Molly  told  her  small  events ;  which,  interesting  as  they  might 
have  been  at  other  times  to  the  gossip-loving  and  sympathetic  Miss 
Phoebe,  were  rather  pale  in  the  stronger  light  reflected  from  the  visit 
of  an  earl's  daughter. 


(     171     ) 


CHAPTER  XY. 

THE   NEW   :MAMMA. 

Ox  Tuesday  afternoon  Molly  retuiTied  home — to  tlie  liome  wliicli 
was  already  strange,  and  vrliat  Yrarwicksliire  people  -would  call 
"  unked,"  to  her.  Xew  paint,  new  paper,  new  colom-s ;  grim 
seiTants  dressed  in  theii*  best,  and  objecting  to  every  change — from 
their  master's  marriage  to  the  new  oilcloth  in  the  hall,  "  which 
tripped  'em  up,  and  threw  'em  do-ma,  and  was  cold  to  the  feet,  and 
smelt  just  abominable."  All  these  complaints  Molly  had  to  listen 
to,  and  it  was  not  a  cheerful  preparation  for  the  reception  which  she 
already  felt  to  be  so  formidable. 

The  sound  of  their  carriage-wheels  was  heard  at  last,  and  Molly 
went  to  the  front  door  to  meet  them.  Her  father  got  out  first,  and 
took  her  hand  and  held  it  while  he  helped  his  bride  to  alight.  Then 
he  kissed  her  fondly,  and  passed  her  on  to  his  wife ;  but  her  veil 
was  so  securely  (and  becomingly)  fastened  down,  that  it  was  some 
time  before  Mrs.  Gibson  could  get  her  lips  clear  to  greet  her  new 
daughter.  Then  there  was  luggage  to  be  seen  about ;  and  both 
the  travellers  were  occupied  in  this,  while  Molly  stood  by  trembfing 
with  excitement,  unable  to  help,  and  only  conscious  of  Betty's 
rather  cross  looks,  as  heavy  box  after  heavy  bos  jammed  up  the 
passage. 

"  Molly,  my  dear,  show — your  mamma  to  her  room  !  " 
Mr.  Gibson  had  hesitated,  because  the  question  of  the  name  by 
which  Molly  was  to  call  her  new  relation  had  never  occurred  to  him 
before.  The  colour  flashed  into  Molly's  foce.  Was  she  to  call  her 
"  mamma  ?  " — the  name  long  appropriated  in  her  mind  to  some  one 
else — to  her  o-mi  dead  mother.  The  rebellious  heart  rose  against  it. 
but  she  said  nothing.     She  led  the  way  upstairs,  Mrs.  Gibson  turn- 


172  -WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

ing  round,  from  time  to  time,  with  some  fresh  direction  as  to  which 
hag  or  trunk  she  needed  most.  She  hardly  spoke  to  Molly  till  they 
were  hoth  in  the  newly-furnished  hedroom,  where  a  small  fire  had 
been  lighted  by  Molly's  orders. 

"  Now,  my  love,  we  can  embrace  each  other  in  peace.  0  dear, 
how  tired  I  am!" — (after  the  embrace  had  been  accomplished). 
"  My  spirits  are  so  easily  affected  with  fatigue ;  but  your  dear  papa 
has  been  kindness  itself.  Dear  !  what  an  old-fashioned  bed  !  And 
what  a —  But  it  doesn't  signify.  By-and-by  we'll  renovate  the 
house — won't  we,  my  dear  ?  And  you'll  be  my  little  maid  to-night, 
and  help  mc  to  arrange  a  few  things,  for  I'm  just  worn  out  with  the 
day's  journey." 

"  I've  ordered  a  sort  of  tea-dinner  to  be  ready  for  j'ou,"  said 
Molly.     "  Shall  I  go  and  tell  them  to  send  it  in  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure  if  I  can  go  down  again  to-night.  It  would  be 
very  comfortable  to  have  a  little  table  brought  in  here,  and  sit  in  my 
dressing-gown  by  this  cheerful  fire.  But,  to  be  sure,  there's  your 
dear  papa  ?  I  really  don't  think  he  would  eat  anything  if  I  were 
not  there.  One  must  not  think  about  oneself,  you  know.  Yes,  I'll 
come  down  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

But  Mr.  Gibson  had  found  a  note  awaiting  him,  with  an  imme- 
diate summons  to  an  old  patient,  dangerously  ill ;  and,  snatching  a 
mouthful  of  food  while  his  horse  was  being  saddled,  he  had  to 
resume  at  once  his  old  habits  of  attention  to  his  profession  above 
eveiythiug. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Gibson  found  that  he  was  not  likely  to  miss  her 
presence — he  had  eaten  a  very  tolerable  lunch  of  bread  and  cold 
meat  in  solitude,  so  her  fears  about  his  appetite  in  her  absence  were 
not  well  founded-^she  desired  to  have  her  meal  upstairs  in  her  own 
room  ;  and  poor  Molly,  not  daring  to  tell  the  servants  of  this  whim, 
had  to  carry  up  first  a  table,  which,  however  small,  was  too  heavy 
for  her ;  and  afterwards  all  the  choice  portions  of  the  meal,  which 
she  had  taken  great  pains  to  arrange  on  the  table,  as  she  had  seen 
such  things  done  at  Hamley,  intermixed  with  fruit  and  flowers  that 
had  that  morning  been  sent  in  from  various  great  houses  where 
Mr.  Gibson  was  respected  and  valued.  How  pretty  Molly  had 
thought  her  handiwork  an  hour  or  two  before  !  How  dreary  it 
seemed  as,  at  last  released  from  Mrs.  Gibson's  conversation,  she 
sate  down  in  solitude  to  cold  tea  and  the  drumsticks  of  the  chicken  ! 
No  one  to  look  at  her  preparations,  and  admire  her  deft-handeduess- 


THE   NEW  MAMMA.  173 

and  taste  !  She  had  thought  that  her  father  wouhl  be  gratified  by 
it,  and  then  he  had  never  seen  it.  She  had  meant  her  cares  as  an 
ofierlng  of  good-will  to  her  stepmother,  who  even  now  was  ringing 
her  bell  to  have  the  tray  taken  away,  and  Miss  Gibson  summoned  to 
her  bedroom. 

Molly  hastily  finished  her  meal,  and  went  upstairs  again. 

"  I  feel  so  lonely,  darling,  in  this  strange  house;  do  come  and 
be  with  me,  and  help  me  to  unpack.  I  think  your  dear  papa  might 
have  put  oft'  his  visit  to  Mr.  Craven  Smith  for  just  this  one 
evening." 

"  Mr.  Craven  Smith  couklu't  put  off  his  dying,"  said  Molly, 
bluntly. 

"  You  droll  girl !  "  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  with  a  faint  laugh.  "  But 
if  this  Mr.  Smith  is  dying,  as  you  say,  what's  the  use  of  your  father's 
going  off  to  him  in  such  a  hurry  ?  Does  he  expect  any  legacy,  or 
anything  of  that  kind  ?  ' ' 

Molly  bit  her  lips  to  prevent  herself  from  saying  something  dis- 
agreeable.    She  only  answered, — 

"  I  don't  quite  know  that  he  is  dying.  The  man  said  so  ; 
and  papa  can  sometimes  do  something  to  make  the  last  struggle 
easier.  At  any  rate,  it's  always  a  comfort  to  the  family  to  have 
him." 

"  What  dreary  knowledge  of  death  you  have  learned  for  a  girl 
of  your  age  !  Eeally,  if  I  had  heard  all  these  details  of  your 
father's  profession,  I  doubt  if  I  could  have  brought  myself  to  have 
him  ! " 

"He  doesn't  make  the  illness  or  the  death;  he  does  his  best 
against  them.  I  call  it  a  very  fine  thing  to  think  of  what  he  does 
or  tries  to  do.  And  you  will  think  so,  too,  when  you  see  how  he  is 
watched  for,  and  how  people  welcome  him  !  "  * 

"  "Well,  don't  let  us  talk  any  more  of  such  gloomy  things,  to- 
night !  I  think  I  shall  go  to  bed  at  once,  I  am  so  tired,  if  j'ou  will 
only  sit  by  me  till  I  get  sleepy,  darling.  If  you  will  talk  to  me,  the 
sound  of  your  voice  will  soon  send  me  off." 

Molly  got  a  book,  and  read  her  stepmother  to  sleep,  preferring 
that  to  the  harder  task  of  keeping  up  a  continual  murmur  of  speech. 

Then  she  stole  down  and  went  into  the  dining-room,  where  the 
fire  was  gone  out ;  purposely  neglected  by  the  servants,  to  mark 
their  displeasure  at  their  new  mistress's  having  had  her  tea  in  her 
own  room.     Molly  managed  to   light  it,  however,  before  her  father 


174  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTEES. 

came  home,  and  collected  and  re-arrauged  some  comfortable  food  for 
liim.  Tlien  she  knelt  down  again  on  the  hearth-rug,  gazing  into 
the  fire  in  a  dreamy  reverie,  which  had  enough  of  sadness  about 
it  to  cause  the  tear  to  drop  unnoticed  from  her  eyes.  But  she 
jumped  up,  and  shook  herself  into  brightness  at  the  sound  of  her 
father's  step. 

"  How  is  Mr.  Craven  Smith  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Dead.  He  just  recognized  me.  He  was  one  of  my  first 
patients  on  coming  to  Hollingford." 

Mr.  Gibson  sate  down  in  the  arm-chair  made  ready  for  him,  and 
wanned  his  hands  at  the  fire,  seeming  neither  to  need  food  nor  talk, 
as  he  went  over  a  train  of  recollections.  Then  he  roused  himself 
from  his  sadness,  and  looking  round  the  room,  he  said  briskly 
enough, — 

"  And  wherc's  the  new  mamma  ?  " 

"  She  was  tired,  and  went  to  bed  early.  Oh,  papa  !  must  I  call 
her  '  mamma  ?'  " 

"I  should  like  it,"  replied  he,  with  a  slight  contraction  of  the 
brows. 

Molly  was  silent.  She  put  a  cup  of  tea  near  him ;  he  stirred  it, 
and  sipped  it,  and  then  he  recurred  to  the  subject. 

"  ^Vhy  shouldn't  you  call  her  '  mamma  ?  '  I'm  sure  she  means 
to  do  the  duty  of  a  mother  to  you.  We  all  may  make  mistakes,  and 
her  ways  may  not  be  quite  all  at  once  our  ways ;  but  at  any  rate  let 
us  start  with  a  family  bond  between  us." 

What  would  Koger  say  w'as  right  ? — that  was  the  question  that 
rose  to  Molly's  mind.  She  had  always  spoken  of  her  father's  new 
wife  as  Mrs.  Gibson,  and  had  once  burst  out  at  Miss  Brownings' 
with  a  protestation  that  she  never  would  call  her  "  mamma."  She 
did  not  feel  drawn  to  her  new  relation  by  their  intercourse  that 
evening.  She  kept  silence,  though  she  knew  her  father  was  expect- 
ing an  answer.  At  last  he  gave  up  his  expectation,  and  turned  to 
another  subject ;  told  about  their  journey,  questioned  her  as  to  the 
Hamleys,  the  Brownings,  Lady  Harriet,  and  the  afternoon  they  had 
passed  together  at  the  Manor-house.  But  there  was  a  certain  hard- 
ness and  constraint  in  his  manner,  and  in  hers  a  heaviness  and 
absence  of  mind.     All  at  once  she  said, — 

"  Papa,  I  will  call  her  '  mamma  ! '  " 

He  took  her  hand,  and  grasped  it  tight ;  but  for  an  instant  or 
two  he  did  not  speak.     Then  he  said, — 


THE   NEW   MAJDIA.  175 

"  You  won't  be  sorry  for  it,  IMolh',  when  you  come  to  lie  as  poor 
Craven  Smith  did  to-night." 

For  some  time  the  murmurs  and  grumblings  of  the  two  elder 
servants  were  confined  to  Molly's  ears,  then  they  spread  to  her 
father's,  who,  to  Molly's  dismay,  made  summary  work  with  them. 

"  You  don't  like  Mrs.  Gibson's  ringing  her  bell  so  often,  don't 
you  ?  You've  been  spoilt,  I'm  afraid ;  but  if  you  don't  conform  to 
my  wife's  desires,  you  have  the  remedy  in  your  own  hands,  you 
knov,'." 

"What  seiwant  ever  resisted  the  temptation  to  give  warning  after 
such  a  speech  as  that  ?  Betty  told  Molly  she  was  going  to  leave,  in 
as  indifferent  a  manner  as  she  could  possibly  assume  towards  the 
girl,  whom  she  had  tended  and  been  about  for  the  last  sixteen  j'cars. 
Molly  had  hitherto  considered  her  former  nurse  as  a  fixture  in  the 
house  ;  she  would  almost  as  soon  have  thought  of  her  father's  pro- 
posing to  sever  the  relationship  betv/een  them ;  and  here  was  Betty 
coolly  talking  over  whether  her  next  place  should  be  in  town  or 
country.  But  a  great  deal  of  this  was  assumed  hardness.  In  a  week 
or  two  Betty  was  in  floods  of  tears  at  the  prospect  of  leaving  her 
nursling,  and  would  fain  have  stayed  and  answered  all  the  bells  in 
the  house  once  every  quarter  of  an  hour.  Even  Mr.  Gibson's  mas- 
culine heart  was  touched  by  the  soitow  of  the  old  servant,  which 
made  itself  obvious  to  him  eveiy  time  he  came  across  her  by  her 
broken  voice  and  her  swollen  eyes. 

One  day  he  said  to  Molly,  "  I  vrish  you'd  ask  your  mamma  if 
Betty  might  not  stay,  if  she  made  a  proper  apology,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing." 

"  I  don't  much  think  it  will  be  of  any  use,"  said  Molly,  in  a 
mournful  voice.  "  I  know  she  is  vrriting,  or  has  written,  about  some 
under-housemaid  at  the  Towers."  ^ 

"  Well ! — all  I  want  is  peace  and  a  decent  quantity  of  cheerful- 
ness when  I  come  home.  I  see  enough  of  tears  at  other  people's 
houses.  After  all,  Betty  has  been  with  us  sixteen  years — a  sort  of 
service  of  the  antique  world.  But  the  woman  may  be  happier  else- 
where. Bo  as  5-ou  hke  about  asking  mamma ;  only  if  she  agrees,  I 
shall  be  quite  willing." 

So  Molly  tried  her  hand  at  making  a  request  to  that  effect  to 
Mrs.  Gibson.  Her  instinct  told  her  she  should  be  unsuccessful ;  but 
surely  favour  was  never  refused  in  so  soft  a  tone. 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  should  never  have  thought  of  sending  an  old 


170  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

servant  away, — one  who  lias  had  the  charge  of  you  from  your  birth, 
or  nearly  so.  I  coukl  not  have  had  the  heart  to  do  it.  She  might 
have  stayed  for  ever  for  me,  if  she  had  only  attended  to  all  my 
wishes  ;  and  I  am  not  unreasonable,  am  I  ?  But,  you  see,  she  com- 
plained ;  and  when  your  dear  papa  spoke  to  her,  she  gave  warning ; 
and  it  is  quite  against  my  principles  ever  to  take  an  apology  from  a 
servant  who  has  given  warning." 

"  She  is  so  sorry,"  pleaded  Molly  ;  "  she  says  she  will  do  anything 
you  wish,  and  attend  to  all  your  orders,  if  she  may  only  stay." 

"  But,  sweet  one,  you  seem  to  forget  that  I  cannot  go  against  my 
principles,  however  much  I  may  be  sorry  for  Betty.  She  should  not 
have  given  way  to  ill-temper,  as  I  said  before  ;  although  I  never 
liked  her,  and  considered  her  a  most  inefficient  servant,  thoroughly 
spoilt  by  having  had  no  mistress  for  so  long,  I  should  have  borne 
with  her — at  least,  I  think  I  should — as  long  as  I  could.  Now  I 
have  all  but  engaged  Maria,  who  was  under-housemaid  at  the  Towers, 
so  don't  let  me  hear  any  more  of  Betty's  sorrow,  or  anybody  else's 
sorrow,  for  I'm  sure,  Avhat  with  your  dear  papa's  sad  stories  and 
other  things,  I'm  getting  quite  low." 

Molly  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  Have  you  quite  engaged  Maria  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  No — I  said  '  all  but  engaged.'  Sometimes  one  would  think  you 
did  not  hear  things,  dear  Molly !  "  replied  Mrs.  Gibson,  petulantly. 
"  Maria  is  living  in  a  place  where  they  don't  give  her  as  much  wages 
as  she  deserves.  Perhaps  they  can't  afford  it,  poor  things  !  I'm 
always  sorry  for  poverty,  and  would  never  speak  hardly  of  those  who 
are  not  rich ;  but  I  have  offered  her  two  pounds  more  than  she  gets 
tit  present,  so  I  think  she'll  leave.  At  any  rate,  if  they  increase  her 
wa<^es,  I  shall  increase  my  offer  in  proportion ;  so  I  think  I'm  sure 
to  get  her.  Such  a  genteel  girl ! — always  brings  iu  a  letter  on  a 
salver  !  " 

"  Poor  Betty  !  "  said  Molly,  softly. 

"Poor  old  soul!  I  hope  she'll  profit  by  the  lesson,  I'm  sure," 
sighed  out  Mrs.  Gibson;  "but  it's  a  pity  we  hadn't  Maria  before 
the  county  families  began  to  call." 

Mrs.  Gibson  had  been  highly  gratified  by  the  circumstance  of  so 
many  calls  "  from  county  families."  Her  husband  was  much  re- 
spected;  and  many  ladies  from  various  halls,  courts,  and  houses, 
who  had  profited  by  his  services  towards  themselves  and  their 
families,  thouglit  it  right  to  pay  his  new  wife  the  attention  of  a  call 


THE  NEW  MAMJIA.  177 

^vllen  they  drove  into  Hollingforcl  to  shop.  Tho  state  of  expectation 
into  Avhich  these  calls  threw  Mrs.  Gibson  rather  flimiuished  Mr. 
Gibson's  domestic  comfort.  It  was  awkward  to  be  cai-rying  hot, 
savoury-smelling  dishes  from  the  kitchen  to  the  dining-room  at  the 
very  time  when  high-born  ladies,  with  noses  of  aristocratic  refine- 
ment, might  be  calling.  Still  more  awkward  was  the  accident  which 
happened  in  consequence  of  clumsy  Betty's  haste  to  open  the  front 
door  to  a  lofty  footman's  ran-tan,  which  caused  her  to  set  down  the 
basket  containing  the  dirty  plates  right  in  his  mistress's  way,  as  she 
stepped  gingerly  through  the  comparative  darkness  of  the  hall ;  and 
then  the  young  men,  leaving  the  dining-room  quietly  enough,  but 
bursting  with  long-repressed  giggle,  or  no  longer  restraining  their 
tendency  to  practical  joking,  no  matter  who  might  be  in  the  passage 
when  they  made  their  exit.  The  remedy  proposed  by  Mrs.  Gibson 
for  all  these  distressing  grievances  was  a  late  dinner.  The  luncheon 
for  the  young  men,  as  she  observed  to  her  husband,  might  be  sent 
into  the  surgery.  A  few  elegant  cold  trifles  for  herself  and  Molly 
would  not  scent  the  house,  and  she  would  always  take  care  to  have 
some  little  dainty  ready  for  him.  He  acceded,  but  unwillingly,  for  it 
was  an  innovation  on  the  habits  of  a  lifetime,  and  he  felt  as  if  he 
should  never  be  able  to  arrange  his  rounds  aright  with  this  new- 
fangled notion  of  a  six  o'clock  dinner. 

"  Don't  get  any  dainties  for  me,  my  dear;  bread-aud-cheese  is 
the  chief  of  my  diet,  like  it  was  that  of  the  old  woman's." 

"I  know  nothing  of  your  old  woman,"  replied  his  wife;  "but 
really  I  cannot  allow  cheese  to  come  beyond  the  kitchen." 

"Then  I'll  eat  it  there,"  said  he.  "It's  close  to  the  stable- 
yard,  and  if  I  come  in  in  a  hurry  I  can  get  it  in  a  moment." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Gibson,  it  is  astonishing  to  compare  your  appear- 
ance and  manners  with  your  tastes.  You  look  such  a  gentleman, ^as 
dear  Lady  Cumnor  used  to  say." 

Then  the  cook  left ;  also  an  old  servant,  though  not  so  old  a  one 
as  Betty.  The  cook  did  not  like  the  trouble  of  late  dinners  ;  and, 
being  a  Methodist,  she  objected  on  religious  grounds  to  trying  any  of 
Mrs.  Gibson's  new  receipts  for  French  dishes.  It  was  not  scriptural, 
she  said.  There  was  a  deal  of  mention  of  food  in  the  Bible  ;  but  it 
was  of  sheep  ready  dressed,  which  meant  mutton,  and  of  wine,  and 
of  brcad-and-milk,  and  figs  and  raisins,  of  fatted  calves,  a  good 
well-browned  fillet  of  veal,  and  such  like ;  but  it  had  always  gone 
against  her  conscience  to  cook  swine-flesh  and  make  raised  pork-pies. 
Vol.  I.  12 


178  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTEES. 

and  now  if  she  was  to  be  set  to  cook  lieathen  dishes  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Papists,  she'd  sooner  give  it  all  up  together.  So  the  cook 
followed  in  Betty's  track,  and  Mr.  Gibson  had  to  satisfy  his  healthy 
English  appetite  on  badly-made  omelettes,  rissoles,  Yol-au-vents, 
croquets,  and  timbales ;  never  being  exactly  sure  what  he  was 
eating. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  before  his  marriage  to  yield  in  trides, 
and  be  firm  in  greater  things.  But  the  differences  of  opinion  about 
trifles  arose  every  day,  and  were  perhaps  more  annoying  than  if  they 
had  related  to  things  of  more  consequence.  Molly  knew  her  father's 
looks  as  v/ell  as  she  knew  her  alphabet ;  his  wife  did  not ;  and  being 
an  unperceptive  person,  except  when  her  own  interests  were  depen- 
dent upon  another  person's  humour,  never  found  out  how  he  was 
worried  by  all  the  small  daily  concessions  which  he  made  to  her  will 
or  her  v.'hims.  He  never  allowed  himself  to  put  any  regret  into 
shape,  even  in  his  own  mind ;  he  repeatedly  reminded  himself  of  his 
wife's  good  qualities,  and  comforted  himself  by  thinking  they  should 
work  together  better  as  time  rolled  on  ;  but  he  was  very  angiy  at  a 
bachelor  great-uncle  of  Mr.  Coxe's,  who,  after  taking  no  notice  of 
his  red-headed  nephew  for  years,  suddenly  sent  for  him,  after  the  old 
man  had  partially  recovered  from  a  serious  attack  of  illness,  and 
appointed  him  his  heir,  on  condition  that  his  great-nephew  remained 
with  him  during  the  remainder  of  his  life.  This  had  happened 
almost  directly  after  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gibson's  return  from  their 
wedding  journey,  and  once  or  twice  since  that  time  Mr.  Gibson  had 
found  himself  wondering  why  the  deuce  old  Benson  could  not  have 
made  up  his  mind  sooner,  and  so  have  rid  his  house  of  the  unwelcome 
presence  of  the  young  lover.  To  do  Mr.  Coxa  justice,  in  the  very 
last  conversation  he  had  as  a  pupil  vrith  Mr.  Gibson  he  had  said, 
with  hesitating  awkwardness,  that  perhaps  the  new  circumstances  in 
which  he  should  be  placed  might  make  seme  difference  with  regard 
to  Mr.  Gibson's  opinion  on — 

*'  Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Gibson,  quickly.  "  You  are  both  of  you 
too  young  to  knov/  your  own  minds  ;  and  if  my  daughter  was  sillj' 
enough  to  be  in  love,  she  should  never  have  to  calculate  her  happi- 
ness on  the  chances  of  an  old  man's  death.  I  daresay  he'll  dis- 
inherit you  after  all.  He  may  do,  and  then  you'd  be  worse  off  than 
ever.  No  !  go  away,  and  forget  all  this  nonsense  ;  and  when  you've 
done,  come  back  and  see  us  !  " 

So  Mr.  Coxe  went  away,  with  an  oath  of  unalterable  faithfulness 


THE  NEW  MAMMA.  179 

iu  his  heart ;  and  Mr.  Gibson  had  uuwilliugl}^  to  fulfil  an  old  pro- 
mise made  to  a  gentleman  farmer  in  the  neighbourhood  a  j^ear  or  two 
before,  and  to  take  the  second  son  of  Mr.  Browne  in  young  Coxe's 
place.  He  was  to  be  the  last  of  the  race  of  pupils,  and  h-e  was 
rather  more  than  a  year  younger  than  Molly.  Mr.  Gibson  trusted, 
that  there  would  be  no  repetition  of  the  Coxe  romance. 


12—2 


(     180     ) 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   BRIDE   AT   HOME. 

Among  the  "  county  people  "  (as  Mrs.  Gibson  termed  them)  who 
called  upon  her  as  a  bride,  were  the  two  young  Mr.  Hamleys.  The 
squire,  their  father,  had  done  his  congratulations,  as  far  as  he  ever 
intended  to  do  them,  to  Mr.  Gibson  himself  when  he  came  to  the 
hall ;  but  Mrs.  Hamley,  unable  to  go  and  pay  visits  herself,  anxious 
to  show  attention  to  her  kind  doctor's  new  wife,  and  with  perhaps  a 
little  sympathetic  curiosity  as  to  how  Molly  and  her  stepmother  got 
on  together,  made  her  sons  ride  over  to  Hollingford  with  her  cards 
and  apologies.  They  came  into  the  newly-furnished  drawing-room, 
looking  bright  and  fresh  from  their  ride  :  Osborne  first,  as  usual, 
perfectly  dressed  for  the  occasion,  and  with  the  sort  of  fine  manner 
which  sate  so  well  upon  him  ;  Roger,  looking  like  a  strong-built, 
cheerful,  intelligent  country  farmer,  followed  in  his  brother's  train. 
Mrs.  Gibson  was  dressed  for  receiving  callers,  and  made  the  effect 
she  always  intended  to  produce,  of  a  very  pretty  woman,  no  longer 
in  first  youth,  but  with  such  soft  manners  and  such  a  caressing  voice, 
that  people  forgot  to  wonder  what  her  real  age  might  be.  Molly  was 
better  dressed  than  formerly ;  her  stepmother  saw  after  that.  She 
disliked  anything  old  or  shabby,  or  out  of  taste  about  her ;  it  hurt 
her  eye  ;  and  she  had  already  fidgeted  Molly  into  a  new  amount  of 
care  about  the  manner  in  which  she  put  on  her  clothes,  arranged  her 
hair,  and  was  gloved  and  shod.  Mrs.  Gibson  had  tried  to  put  her 
through  a  course  of  rosemary  washes  and  creams  in  order  to  improve 
her  tanned  complexion  ;  but  about  that  Molly  was  eithel^  forgetful  or 
rebellious,  and  Mrs.  Gibson  could  not  well  come  up  to  the  girl's  bed- 
room every  night  and  see  that  she  daubed  her  face  and  neck  over 
with  the  cosmetics  so  carefully  provided  for  her.  Still  her  appear- 
ance was  extremely  improved,  even  to  Osborne's  critical  eye.     Roger 


THE   BRIDE   AT   HOME.  181 

sought  rather  to  discover  in  her  looks  and  expression  whether  she 
was  happy  or  not ;  his  mother  had  especially  charged  him  to  note  all 
these  signs. 

Oshorne  and  Mrs.  Gihson  made  themselves  agreeable  to  each 
other  according  to  the  approved  fashion  when  a  young  man  calls  on  a 
middle-aged  bride.  They  talked  of  the  "  Shakspeare  and  musical 
glasses  "  of  the  day,  each  vieing  with  the  other  in  their  knowledge  of 
London  topics.  Molly  heard  fragments  of  their  conversation  in  the 
pauses  of  silence  between  Roger  and  herself.  Her  hero  was  coming 
out  in  quite  a  new  character ;  no  longer  literary  or  poetical,  or 
romantic,  or  critical,  he  was  now  full  of  the  last  new  play,  the  singers 
at  the  opera.  He  had  the  advantage  over  Mrs.  Gibson,  who,  in  fact, 
only  spoke  of  these  things  from  hearsay,  from  listening  to  the  talk  at 
the  Towers,  while  Osborne  had  run  up  from  Cambridge  two  or  three 
times  to  hear  this,  or  to  see  that  wonder  of  the  season.  But  she  had 
the  advantage  over  him  in  greater  boldness  of  invention  to  eke  out 
her  facts  ;  and  besides  she  had  more  skill  in  the  choice  and  arrange- 
ment of  her  words,  so  as  to  make  it  appear  as  if  the  opinions  that 
were  in  reality  quotations,  were  formed  by  herself  from  actual 
■experience  or  personal  observation  ;  such  as,  in  speaking  of  the 
mannerisms  of  a  famous  Italian  singer,  she  would  ask, — 

"  Did  you  observe  her  constant  trick  of  heaving  her  shoulders  and 
clasping  her  hands  together  before  she  took  a  high  note  ?  " — which 
was  so  said  as  to  imply  that  Mrs.  Gibson  herself  had  noticed  this 
trick.  Molly,  who  had  a  pretty  good  idea  by  this  time  of  how  her 
stepmother  had  passed  the  last  year  of  her  life,  listened  with  no 
small  bewilderment  to  this  conversation  ;  but  at  length  decided  that 
she  must  misunderstand  what  they  were  saying,  as  she  could  not 
gather  up  the  missing  links  for  the  necessity  of  replying  to  Roger's 
questions  and  remarks.  Osborne  was  not  the  same  Osborne  he  was 
when  with  his  mother  at  the  Hall. 

Roger  saw  Molly  glancing  at  his  brother. 

"You  think  my  brother  looking  ill?"  said  he,  lowering  his 
voice. 

"  No — not  exactly." 

"He  is  not  well.  Both  my  father  and  I  are  anxious  about 
him.  That  run  on  the  Continent  did  him  harm,  instead  of  good  ; 
and  his  disappointment  at  his  examination  has  told  upon  him,  I'm 
.afraid." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  he  looked  ill ;  only  changed  somehow." 


182  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  Ho  says  he  must  go  back  to  Cambridge  soon.  Possibly  it  may 
do  him  good  ;  and  I  shall  be  off  next  week.  This  is  a  farewell  A'isit 
to  you,  as  well  as  one  of  congratulation  to  Mrs.  Gibson." 

**  Your  mother  will  feel  your  both  going  away,  won't  she  ?  But 
of  course  young  men  vvill  always  have  to  live  away  from  home." 

*' Yes,"  he  replied.  "  Still  she  feels  it  a  good  deal;  and  I'm 
not  satisfied  about  her  health  either.  You  will  go  out  and  see  her 
sometimes,  will  you  ?  she  is  very  fond  of  you." 

*'  If  I  may,"  saidMolI}-,  unconsciously  glancing  at  her  stepmother. 
She  had  an  uncomfortable  instinct  that,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Gibson's 
own  perpetual  flow  of  words,  she  could,  and  did,  hear  cverj'thing 
that  fell  from  Molly's  lips. 

"  Do  you  want  any  more  books  ?  "  said  he.  "  If  you  do,  make 
a  list  out,  and  send  it  to  my  mother  before  I  leave,  next  Tuesday, 
After  I  am  gone,  there  v.'ill  be  no  one  to  go  into  the  library  and  pick 
them  out." 

As  soon  as  they  had  left,  Mrs.  Gibson  began  her  usual  comments 
on  the  departed  visitors. 

"  I  do  like  that  Osborne  Hamley !  What  a  nice  fellov/  he  is! 
Somehow,  I  always  do  like  oldest  sons.  He  will  have  the  estate, 
won't  he  ?  I  shall  ask  your  dear  papa  to  encourage  him  to  come 
about  the  house.  He  will  be  a  very  good,  very  pleasant  acquaintance 
for  you  and  Cynthia.  The  other  is  but  a  loutish  young  fellow,  to  my 
mind  ;  there  is  no  aristocratic  bearing  about  him.  I  suppose  he 
takes  after  his  mother,  who  is  but  a  parveuue,  I've  heard  them  say 
at  the  Towers." 

Molly  was  spiteful  enough  to  have  gi'eat  pleasure  in  saying, — 

"  I  think  I've  heard  her  father  was  a  Russian  merchant,  and 
imported  tallow  and  hemp.  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  is  exti-emely  like 
her." 

"  Indeed  !  But  there's  no  calculating  these  things.  Anyhow,  he 
is  the  perfect  gentleman  in  appearance  and  manner.  The  estate  is 
entailed,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Molly. 

A  short  silence  ensued.     Then  Mrs.  Gibson  said, — 

"  Do  you  know,  I  almost  think  I  must  get  dear  papa  to  give  a 
little  dinner-party,  and  ask  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  ?  I  should  like  to 
have  him  feel  at  home  in  this  house.  It  vvould  be  something  cheerful 
for  him  after  the  duluess  and  solitude  of  Hamley  Hall.  For  the  old 
people  don't  visit  much,  I  believe  ?  " 


THE  BRIDE  AT  HOME.  188 

"  He's  going  back  to  Cambridge  next  week,"  saiJ  Molly. 
'•  Is  he  ?     Well,  then,  we'll  put  oft  our  little  dinner  till  Cynthia 
comes  home.     I  should  like  to  have  some  young  society  for  her, 
poor  darling,  when  she  returns." 

"  When  is  she  coming?"  said  Molly,  v/ho  had  always  a  longing 
curiosity  for  this  same  Cynthia's  return. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  not  sure  ;  perhaps  at  the  new  year — perhaps  not  till 
Easter.  I  must  get  this  drawing-room  all  new  furnished  first ;  and 
then  I  mean  to  fit  up  her  room  and  yours  just  alike.  They  are  just 
the  same  size,  only  on  opposite  sides  of  the  passage." 

"Are  you  going  to  new-farnish  that  room?"  said  Molly,  in 
astonishment  at  the  never-ending  changes. 

"  Yes  ;  and  yours,  too,  darling  ;  so  don't  be  jealous." 
"  Oh,  please,  mamma,  not  mine,"  said  Molly,  taking  in  the  idea 
for  the  first  time, 

"  Yes,  dear !  You  shall  have  yours  done  as  well.  A  little 
French  bed,  and  a  new  paper,  and  a  pretty  cai-pet,  and  a 
dressed-up  toilet-table  and  glass,  will  make  it  look  quite  a  different 
place." 

"  But  I  don't  want  it  to  look  different.  I  like  it  as  it  is.  Pray 
don't  do  anything  to  it." 

"  What  nonsense,  child  !  I  never  heard  anything  more  ridiculous  ! 
Most  girls  would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  furniture  only  fit  for  the 
lumber-room." 

"  It  was  my  ovrn  mamma's  before  she  was  married,"  said  Molly, 
in  a  very  low  voice  ;  bringing  out  this  last  plea  unv/illingly,  but  with 
a  certainty  that  it  would  not  be  resisted. 

Mrs.  Gibson  paused  for  a  moment  before  she  replied  : 
"  It's  very  much  to  your  credit  that  you  should  have  such  feelings, 
I'm  sure.  But  don't  you  think  sentiment  may  be  carried  too  Hav  ? 
Why,  we  should  have  no  new  furniture  at  all,  and  should  have  to  put 
up  with  worm-eaten  hoiTors.  Besides,  my  dear,  Hollingford  will 
seem  very  dull  to  Cynthia,  after  pretty,  gay  France,  and  I  want  to 
make  the  first  impressions  attractive.  I've  a  notion  I  can  settle  her 
down  near  here  ;  and  I  want  her  to  come  in  a  good  temper  ;  for, 
betv/een  ourselves,  my  dear,  she  is  a  little,  leetle  wilful.  You  need 
not  mention  this  to  your  papa." 

"  But  can't  you  do  Cynthia's  room,  and  not  mine  ?  Please  let 
mine  alone." 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  couldn't  agree  to  that.     Only  think  what  would 


184  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

be  said  of  me  by  everybody  ;  petting  my  owu  child  and  neglecting 
my  husband's  !     I  couldn't  bear  it." 

**  No  one  need  know." 

"  In  such  a  tittle-tattle  place  as  Hollingford  !  Really,  Molly,  you 
are  either  very  stupid  or  very  obstinate,  or  else  you  don't  care  what 
hard  things  may  be  said  about  me  :  and  all  for  a  selfish  fancy  of  your 
own  !  No  !  I  oAve  myself  the  justice  of  acting  in  this  matter  as  I 
please.  Every  one  shall  know  I'm  not  a  common  stepmother. 
Every  penny  I  spend  on  Cynthia  I  shall  spend  on  you  too  ;  so  it's  no 
use  talking  any  more  about  it." . 

So  Molly's  little  white  dimity  bed,  her  old-fashioned  chest  of 
drawers,  and  her  other  cherished  relics  of  her  mother's  maiden-days, 
were  consigned  to  the  lumber-room ;  and  after  a  while,  when  Cynthia 
and  her  great  French  boxes  had  come  home,  the  old  furniture  that 
had  filled  up  the  space  required  for  the  fresh  importation  of  trunks, 
disa2)peared  likewise  into  the  same  room. 

All  this  time  the  family  at  the  Towers  had  been  absent ;  Lady 
Cumnor  had  been  ordered  to  Bath  for  the  early  part  of  the  winter, 
and  her  family  were  with  her  there.  On  dull  rainy  days,  Mrs.  Gibson 
used  to  bethink  her  of  missing  "  the  Cumnors,"  for  so  she  had  taken 
to  calling  them  since  her  position  had  become  more  independent  of 
theirs.  It  marked  a  distinction  between  her  intimacy  in  the  family, 
and  the  reverential  manner  in  which  the  townspeople  were  accustomed 
to  speak  of  "  the  carl  and  the  countess."  Both  Lady  Cumnor  and 
Lady  Harriet  wrote  to  their  "  dear  Clare  "  from  time  to  time.  The 
former  had  generally  some  commissions  that  she  wished  to  have 
executed  at  the  Towers,  or  in  the  town ;  and  no  one  could  do  them 
so  well  as  Clare,  who  was  acquainted  with  all  the  tastes  and  ways  of., 
the  countess.  These  commissions  were  the  cause  of  various  bills 
for  flys  and  cars  from  the  George  Inn.  Mr.  Gibson  pointed  out  this 
consequence  to  his  wife ;  but  she,  in  return,  bade  him  remark  that  a 
present  of  game  was  pretty  sure  to  follow  upon  the  satisfactory 
execution  of  Lady  Cumuor's  wishes.  Somehow,  Mr.  Gibson  did  not 
quite  like  this  consequence  either ;  but  ho  was  silent  about  it,  at  any 
rate.  Lady  Harriet's  letters  were  short  and  amusing.  She  had 
that  sort  of  regard  for  her  old  governess  which  prompted  her  to  write 
from  time  to  time,  and  to  feel  glad  when  the  half-voluntary  task  was 
accomplished.  So  there  was  no  real  outpouring  of  confidence,  but 
enough  news  of  the  family  and  gossip  of  the  place  she  was  in,  as  she 
thought  would  make  Clare  feel  that  she  was  not  forgotten  by  her 


THE   BniDE   AT   HOME.  185 

former  pupils,  intermixed  with  moderate  but  sincere  expressions  of 
regard.  How  those  letters  were  quoted  and  referred  to  by  Mrs.  Gibson 
in  her  conversations  with  the  HoUingford  ladies  !  She  had  found  out 
their  etiect  at  Ashcombe  ;  and  it  was  not  less  at  HoUingford.  But 
she  was  rather  perplexed  at  kindly  messages  to  Molly,  and  at  inquiries 
as  to  how  the  Miss  Brownings  liked  the  tea  she  had  sent ;  and  Molly 
had  first  to  explain,  and  then  to  narrate  at  full  length,  all  the 
occurrences  of  the  afternoon  at  Ashcombe  Manor-house,  and  Lady 
Harriet's  subsequent  call  upon  her  at  Miss  Brownings'. 

"What  nonsense!"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  with  some  annoyance. 
*'  Lady  Harriet  only  went  to  see  you  out  of  a  desire  of  amusement. 
She  would  only  make  fun  of  Miss  Brownings,  and  those  tv.'o  will  be 
quoting  her  and  talking  about  her,  just  as  if  she  was  their  intimate 
friend." 

"  I  don't  think  she  did  make  fun  of  them.  She  really  seemed  as 
if  she  had  been  very  kind." 

"  And  you  suppose  you  know  her  ways  better  than  I  do  vrho  have 
known  her  these  fifteen  years  ?  I  tell  you  she  turns  every  one  into 
ridicule  who  does  not  belong  to  her  set.  \Yhy,  she  used  always  to 
speak  of  Miss  Brownings  as  '  Pecksy  and  Flapsy.'  " 

"  She  promised  me  she  would  not,"  said  Molly  driven  to  bay. 

"  Promised  you  ! — Lady  Harriet  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Only — she  spoke  of  them  as  Pecksy  and  Flapsy — ^and  when 
she  talked  of  coming  to  call  on  me  at  their  house,  I  asked  her  not 
to  come  if  she  was  going  to to  make  fun  of  them." 

"  Upon  my  word !  with  all  my  long  acquaintance  with  Lady 
Harriet,  I  should  never  have  ventured  on  such  impertinence." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  as  impertinence,"  said  Molly  sturdily.  "  And 
I  don't  think  Lady  Harriet  took  it  as  such." 

"  You  can't  know  anything  about  it.  She  can  put  on  any  kibd 
of  manner." 

Just  then  Squire  Hamley  came  in.  It  was  his  first  call ;  and 
Mrs.  Gibson  gave  him  a  graceful  welcome,  and  was  quite  ready  to 
accept  his  apology  for  its  tardiness,  and  to  assure  him  that  she  quite 
understood  the  pressure  of  business  on  every  landowner  who  farmed 
his  own  estate.  But  no  such  apology  was  made.  He  shook  her 
hand  heartily,  as  a  mark  of  congratulation  on  her  good  fortune  in 
having  secured  such  a  prize  as  his  friend  Gibson,  but  said  nothing 
about  his  long  neglect  of  duty.  Molly,  who  by  this  time  knew 
the  few  strong  expressions  of  hrs  countenance  well,  was  sure  that 


18G  "WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

sometliing  was  the  matter,  and  that  he  was  very  much  clisturheJ. 
He  hardly  attended  to  Mrs.  Gibson's  fluent  opening  of  conversation, 
for  she  had  already  determined  to  make  a  favourable  impression  on 
the  father  of  the  handsome  young  man  who  was  heir  to  an  estate, 
besides  his  own  personal  agreeableness  ;  but  he  turned  to  Molly, 
and,  addressing  her,  said — almost  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  he  was 
making  a  confidence  to  her  that  ho  did  not  intend  Mrs.  Gibson  to 
hear, — 

•'  Molly,  we  are  all  wrong  at  home  !  Osborne  has  lost  the 
fellowship  at  Trinity  he  went  back  to  try  for.  Then  he  has  gone  and 
failed  miserably  in  his  degree,  after  all  that  he  said,  and  that  his 
mother  said  ;  and  I,  like  a  fool,  went  and  boasted  about  my  clever  son. 
I  can't  understand  it.     I  never  expected  anything  extraordinary  from, 

Roger  ;  but  Osborne !    And  then  it  has  throv/n  madam  into  one 

of  her  bad  fits  of  illness  ;  and  she  seems  to  have  a  fancy  for  you, 
child  !  Your  father  came  to  see  her  this  morning.  Poor  thing, 
she's  very  poorly,  I'm  afraid ;  and  she  told  him  how  she  should  like 
to  have  you  about  her,  and  he  said  I  might  fetch  you.  You'll  come, 
won't  you,  my  dear  ?  She's  not  a  poor  woman,  such  as  many  people 
think  it's  the  only  charity  to  be  kind  to,  but  she's  just  as  forlorn  of 
woman's  care  as  if  she  was  poor — worse,  I  daresay." 

"  I'll  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,"  said  Molly,  much  touched  by  the 
squire's  words  and  manner,  never  thinking  of  asking  her  step- 
mother's consent,  now  that  she  had  heard  that  her  father  had  given 
his.  As  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  !Mrs.  Gibson,  who  had  only  half 
heard  what  the  squire  had  said,  and  was  a  little  affronted  at  the 
exclusiveness  of  his  confidence,  said, — "  My  dear,  v/here  are  you 
going?" 

"  Mrs.  Hamley  wants  mo,  and  papa  says  I  may  go,"  said  Molly  ; 
and  almost  at  the  same  time  the  squire  replied, — 

"My  wife  is  ill,  and  as  she's  very  fond  of  your  daughter,  she 
begged  Mr.  Gibson  to  allow  her  to  come  to  the  Hall  for  a  little 
while,  and  he  kindly  said  she  might,  and  I'm  come  to  fetch  her." 

"  Stop  a  minute,  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson  to  Molly — a  slight 
cloud  over  her  countenance,  in  spite  of  her  caressing  word.  "  I  am 
sure  dear  papa  quite  forgot  that  you  were  to  go  out  with  me  to-night, 
to  visit  people,"  continued  she,  addressing  herself  to  the  squire, 
"  with  whom  I  am  quite  unacquainted — and  it  is  very  uncertain  if 
Mr.  Gibson  can  return  in  time  to  accompany  me — so,  you  see,  I 
cannot  allow  IMolIy  to  go  with  you." 


THE   BRIDE   AT   HOME.  187 

"  I  slionldn't  have  tliouglit  it  would  have  sij^nificil.  Briclci3  are 
always  brides,  I  suppose  ;  and  it's  their  part  to  he  timid  ;  hut  I 
shouldn't  have  thought  it — in  this  case.  And  my  wife  sets  her  heart 
on  things,  as  sick  people  do.  Well,  Molly"  (in  a  louder  tone,  for 
these  foregoing  sentences  were  spoken  sotto  voce),  "we  must  put  it 
off  till  to-morrow:  and  it's  our  loss,  not  yours,"  he  continued,  as  ho 
saw  the  reluctance  with  vrhich  she  slowly  returned  to  her  place. 
"  You'll  be  as  gay  as  can  be  to-night,  I  daresay " 

"  No,  I  shall  not,"  broke  in  Molly.  "  I  never  wanted  to  go,  and 
now  I  shall  want  it  less  than  ever." 

"Hush,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson;  and,  addressing  the 
squire,  she  added,  "  The  visiting  here  is  not  all  one  could  wish  for  so 
young  a  giii — no  young  people,  no  dances,  nothing  of  gaiety ;  but  it 
is  wrong  in  you,  Molly,  to  speak  against  such  kind  friends  of  your 
father's  as  I  understand  these  Cockerells  are.  Don't  give  so  bad  an 
impression  of  yourself  to  the  kind  squire." 

"Let  her  alone  !  let  her  alone!  "  quoth  he.  "I  see  what  she 
means.  She'd  rather  come  and  be  in  my  wife's  sick-room  than  go 
out  for  this  visit  to-night.     Is  there  no  way  of  getting  her  off'?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson.  "  An  engagement  is  an 
engagement  with  me  ;  and  I  consider  that  she  is  not  only  engaged  to 
]Mrs.  Cockereil,  but  to  mo — bound  to  accompany  me,  in  my  husband's 
absence." 

The  squire  was  put  out ;  and  when  he  was  put  out  he  had  a 
trick  of  placing  his  hands  on  his  knees  and  whistling  softly  to  liimself. 
Molly  knew  this  phase  of  his  displeasure,  and  only  hoped  he  would 
confine  himself  to  this  wordless  expression  of  annoyance.  It  was 
pretty  hard  work  for  her  to  keep  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes ;  and  she 
endeavoured  to  think  of  something  else,  rather  than  dvv-ell  on  regrets 
and  annoyances.  She  heard  Mrs.  Gibson  talking  on  in  a  sw^t 
monotone,  and  wished  to  attend  to  what  she  was  saying,  but  the 
squire's  visible  annoyance  struck  sharper  on  her  mind.  At  length, 
after  a  pause  of  silence,  he  started  up,  and  said, — 

"  Well !  it's  no  use.  Poor  madam  ;  she  v^'on't  like  it.  She'll 
be  disappointed  !  But  it's  but  for  one  evening  ! — but  for  one  even- 
ing !  She  may  come  to-morrow,  majTi't  she  ?  Or  will  the  dissipation 
of  such  an  evening  as  she  describes,  be  too  much  for  her?  " 

There  was  a  touch  of  savage  irony  in  his  manner  which  fiightencd 
Mrs.  Gibson  into  good  behaviour. 

"  She  shall  be  ready  at  any  time  you  name.     I  am  so  sorry :  my 


188  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

foolisli  shyness  is  in  fault,  I  believe ;  but  still  you  must  ackno^yledge 
that  an  engagement  is  an  engagement." 

"  Did  I  ever  say  an  engagement  was  an  elephant,  madam  ? 
However,  there's  no  use  saying  any  more  about  it,  or  I  shall  forget 
my  manners.  I'm  an  old  tyrant,  and  she — lying  there  in  bed,  poor 
girl — has  always  given  me  my  own  way.  So  you'll  excuse  me,  Mrs. 
Gibson,  won't  you  ;  and  let  Molly  come  along  with  me  at  ten 
to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  smiling.  But  when  his  back  was 
turned,  she  said  to  Molly, — 

"  Now,  my  dear,  I  must  never  have  you  exposing  me  to  the  ill- 
manners  of  such  a  man  again  !  I  don't  call  him  a  squire  ;  I  oall  him 
a  boor,  or  a  yeoman  at  best.  You  must  not  go  on  accepting  or 
rejecting  in\'itations  as  if  you  were  an  independent  young  lady,  Molly. 
Pay  me  the  respect  of  a  reference  to  my  wishes  another  time,  if  you 
please,  my  dear  !  " 

"  Papa  had  said  I  might  go,"  said  Molly,  choking  a  little. 

"  As  I  am  now  your  mamma,  your  references  must  be  to  me,  for 
the  future.  But  as  you  are  to  go  you  may  as  well  look  well  dressed. 
I  will  lend  you  my  new  shawl  for  this  visit,  if  you  like  it,  and  my  set 
of  green  ribbons.  I  am  always  indulgent  when  proper  respect  is 
paid  to  me.  And  in  such  a  house  as  Hamley  Hall,  no  one  can  tell 
who  may  be  coming  and  going,  even  if  there  is  sickness  in  the  family." 

"  Thank  you.  But  I  don't  want  the  shawl  and  the  ribbons, 
please  :  there  will  be  nobody  there  except  the  family.  There  never 
is,  I  think  ;  and  now  that  she  is  so  ill  "—Molly  was  on  the  point  of 
crying  at  the  thought  of  her  friend  lying  ill  and  lonely,  and  looking 
for  her  arrival.  Moreover,  she  was  sadly  afraid  lest  the  squire  had 
gone  off  with  the  idea  that  she  did  not  want  to  come — that  she  pre- 
ferred that  stupid,  stupid  party  at  the  Cockerells'.  Mrs.  Gibson,  too, 
was  sorry ;  she  had  an  uncomfortable  consciousness  of  having  given 
way  to  temper  before  a  stranger,  and  a  stranger,  too,  whose  good 
opinion  she  had  meant  to  cultivate ;  and  she  was  also  annoyed  at 
Molly's  tearful  face. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  to  bring  you  back  into  good  temper  ?  " 
she  said.  "  First,  you  insist  upon  your  knowing  Lady  Harriet  better 
than  I  do — I,  who  have  known  her  for  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  at 
least.  Then  you  jump  at  invitations  without  ever  consulting  me,  or 
thinking  of  how  awkward  it  would  be  for  me  to  go  stumping  into  a 
drawing-room  all  by  myself;   following  my  new  name,  too,  wli'ch 


THE   BRIDE   AT   HOME.  18D 

always  makes  me  feel  uncomfortable,  it  is  such  a  sad  come-down 
after  Kirkpatrick  !  And  then,  when  I  oifer  you  some  of  the  prettiest 
things  I  have  got,  you  say  it  does  not  signify  how  you  are  dressed. 
"WTiat  can  I  do  to  please  you,  Molly  ?  I,  who  delight  in  nothing 

:  more  than  peace  in  a  family,  to  see  you  sitting  there  with  despair 
upon  your  face  ?  " 

Molly  could  stand  it  no  longer ;  she  went  upstairs  to  her  ovm 
room — her  own  smart  new  room,  which  hardly  yet  seemed  a  familiar 
place ;  and  began  to  cry  so  heartily  and  for  so  long  a  time,  that  she 
stopped  at  length  for  very  weariness.  She  thought  of  Mrs.  Hamley 
"\Tearyiug  for  her ;  of  the  old  Hall  whose  very  quietness  might 
become  oppressive  to  an  ailing  person  ;  of  the  trust  the  squire  had 

.  had  in  her  that  she  would  come  off  directly  with  him.     And  all  this 

'  oppressed  her  much  more  than  the  querulousness  of  her  stepmother's 

Words. 


(     190     ) 


CHAPTER  XYII. 


TROUBLE   AT    IIAMLEY   HALL. 


If  Molly  thouglat  that  peace  dwelt  perpetually  at  Hamley  Hall  she 
was  sorely  mistaken.  Something  was  out  of  tune  iu  the  whole 
establishment ;  and,  for  a  very  unusual  thing,  the  common  irritation 
seemed  to  have  produced  a  common  bond.  All  the  servants  were  old 
in  their  places,  and  were  told  by  some  one  of  the  family,  or  gathered, 
from  the  unheeded  conversation  carried  on  before  them,  evei-j'thing 
that  affected  master  or  mistress  or  either  of  the  young  gentlemen. 
Any  one  of  them  could  have  told  Molly  that  the  grievance  which  lay 
at  the  root  of  everything,  was  the  amount  of  the  bills  run  up  by 
Osborne  at  Cambridge,  and  which,  now  that  all  chance  of  his 
obtaining  a  fellowship  was  over,  came  pouring  down  upon  the  squire. 
But  Molly,  confident  of  being  told  by  Mrs.  Hamley  herself  anything 
which  she  wished  her  to  hear,  encouraged  no  confidences  from  any 
one  else. 

She  was  struck  Vvith  the  change  iu  "  madam's"  look  as  soon  as 
she  caught  sight  of  her  in  the  darkened  room,  lying  on  the  sofa  in 
her  dressing-room,  all  dressed  in  white,  which  almost  rivalled  the 
white  wanness  of  her  face.     The  squire  ushered  Molly  in  with, — 

"  Here  she  is  at  last !  "  and  Molly  had  scarcely  imagined  that  he 
had  so  much  variety  in  the  tones  of  his  voice — the  beginning  of  the 
sentence  was  spoken  in  a  loud  congratulatory  manner,  while  the  last 
words  were  scarcely  audible.  He  had  seen  the  death-like  pallor  on 
his  wife's  face  ;  not  a  new  sight,  and  one  wdiich  had  been  presented 
io  him  gradually  enough,  but  which  was  now  always  giving  him  a 
fresh  shock.  It  was  a  lovely  tranquil  winter's  day;  every  branch  and 
every  twig  on  the  trees  and  shrubs  W'ere  glittering  with  drops  of  the 
suu-melted  hoar-frost ;  a  robin  was  perched  on  a  holly -bush,  piping 
cheerily ;   but  the  blinds  were  down,   and  out  of  Mrs.    Hamley's 


TROUBLE  AT  HAMLEY   HALL.  191 

windows  notliing  of  all  this  was  to  bo  seen.  There  was  even  a  large 
screen  placed  between  her  and  the  wood-fire,  to  keep  off  that  cheerful 
blaze.  Mrs.  Hamley  stretched  out  one  hand  to  Molly,  and  held 
hers  firm  ;  with  the  other  she  shaded  her  eyes. 

"  She  is  not  so  well  this  morning, "  said  the  squire,  shaking  his 
head.  "  But  never  fear,  my  dear  one  ;  here's  the  doctor's  daughter, 
nearly  as  good  as  the  doctor  himself.  Have  you  had  your  medicine  '? 
Your  beef-tea  ? "  he  continued,  going  about  on  heavy  tiptoe  and 
peeping  into  every  empty  cup  and  glass.  Then  he  returned  to  the 
sofa  ;  looked  at  her  for  a  mmute  or  tv^'o,  and  then  softly  kissed  her, 
and  told  Molly  he  would  leave  her  in  charge. 

As  if  Mrs.  Hamley  was  afraid  of  Molly's  remarks  or  questions, 
she  began  in  her  turn  a  hasty  system  of  interrogatories. 

"  Now,  dear  child,  tell  me  all ;  it's  no  breach  of  confidence,  for 
I  shan't  mention  it  again,  and  I  shan't  be  here  long.  How  does  it 
all  go  on — the  nev/  mother,  the  good  resolutions  ?  let  me  help  you  if 
I  can.  I  think  with  a  girl  I  could  have  been  of  use — a  mother  does 
not  knovv'  boys.  But  tell  me  anything  you  like  and  Vt'ill ;  don't  be 
afraid  of  details." 

Even  with  Molly's  small  experience  of  illness  she  saw  how  much 
of  restless  fever  there  was  in  this  speech  ;  and  instinct,  or  some  such 
gift,  prompted  her  to  tell  a  long  story  of  many  things — the  wedding- 
day,  her  visit  to  Miss  Brownings',  the  new  furniture,  Lady  Harriet, 
&c.,  all  in  an  easy  flow  of  talk  which  was  very  soothing  to  Mrs. 
Hamley,  inasmuch  as  it  gave  her  something  to  think  about  beyond 
her  own  immediate  sorrows.  But  Molly  did  not  speak  of  her  own 
grievances,  nor  of  the  new  domestic  relationship.  Mrs.  Hamley 
noticed  this. 

"  And  you  and  Mrs.  Gibson  get  on  happily  together  ?  " 
"  Not  always,"  said  Molly.     "You  know  we  didn't  know  mucii 
of  each  other  before  we  were  put  to  live  together." 

"  I  didn't  like  what  the  squire  told  me  last  night.  He  was  very 
angry." 

That  sore  had  not  yet  healed  over ;  but  Molly  resolutely  kept 
silence,  beating  her  brains  to  think  of  some  other  subject  of  con- 
versation. 

"Ah!  I  see,  Molly,"  said  Mrs.  Hamley;  "you  won't  tell  me 
your  sorrows,  and  yet,  perhaps,  I  could  have  done  you  some  good." 

"I  don't  like,"  said  Molly,  in  a  low  voice.  "I  think  papa 
wouldn't  like  it.     And,  besides,  you  have  helped  me  so  much — you 


192  WIVES  AND   DAUGIITErwS. 

and  Mr.  Roger  Hamley.     I  often  think  of  the  things  ho  saiJ ;  they 
come  in  so  usefully,  and  are  such  a  strength  to  me." 

"  Ah,  Eoger !  yes.  He  is  to  be  trusted.  Oh,  Molly !  I've  a 
great  deal  to  say  to  you  myself,  only  not  now.  I  must  have  my 
medicine  and  try  to  go  to  sleep.  Good  girl !  You  arc  stronger  than 
I  am,  and  can  do  without  sympathy." 

Molly  was  taken  to  another  room ;  the  maid  who  conducted  her 
to  it  told  her  that  Mrs.  Hamley  had  not  wished  her  to  have  her 
nights  disturbed,  as  they  might  very  probably  have  been  if  she  had 
been  in  her  former  sleeping-room.  In  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Hamley 
sent  for  her,  and  with  the  want  of  reticence  common  to  invalids, 
especially  to  those  sufiering  from  long  and  depressing  maladies,  she 
told  Molly  of  the  family  distress  and  disappointment. 

She  made  Molly  sit  down  near  her  on  a  little  stool,  and,  holding 
her  hand,  and  looking  into  her  eyes  to  catch  her  spoken  sympathy 
from  their  expression  quicker  than  she  could  from  her  words,  she 
said, — 

"  Osborne  has  so  disappointed  us  !  I  cannot  understand  it  yet. 
And  the  squire  was  so  terribly  angry  !  I  cannot  think  how  all  the 
money  was  spent — advances  through  money-lenders,  besides  bills. 
The  squire  does  not  show  me  how  angry  he  is  now,  because  he's 
afraid  of  another  attack  ;  but  I  know  how  angry  he  is.  You  see  he 
has  been  spending  ever  so  much  money  in  reclaiming  that  land  at 
Upton  Common,  and  is  very  hard  pressed  himself.  But  it  would 
have  doubled  the  value  of  the  estate,  and  so  we  never  thought  any- 
thing of  economies  which  would  benefit  Osborne  in  the  long  run. 
And  now  the  squire  says  he  must  mortgage  some  of  the  land ;  and 
you  can't  think  how  it  cuts  him  to  the  heart.  He  sold  a  great  deal  of 
timber  to  send  the  two  boys  to  college.  Osborne — oh  !  what  a  dear, 
innocent  boy  he  was  :  he  was  the  heir,  you  know  ;  and  he  was  so 
clever,  every  one  said  he  was  sure  of  honours  and  a  fellowship,  and 
I  don't  know  what  all ;  and  he  did  get  a  scholarship,  and  then  all  went 
wrong.  I  don't  know  how.  That  is  the  worst.  Perhaps  the  squire 
wrote  too  angrily,  and  that  stopped  up  confidence.  But  he  might 
have  told  me.  He  would  have  done,  I  think,  Molly,  if  he  had  been 
here,  face  to  face  with  me.  But  the  squire,  in  his  anger,  told  him 
not  to  show  his  face  at  home  till  he  had  paid  off  the  debts  he  had 
incurred  out  of  his  allowance.  Out  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  a  year 
to  pay  off  more  than  nine  hundred,  one  way  or  another !  And  not  to 
come  home  till  then !     Perhaps  Roger  will  have  debts  too  !     He  had 


TROUBLE  AT  HAMLEY  HALL.  193 

but  two  Imndretl  ;  but,  then,  he  was  not  the  eldest  son.  The  squire 
has  given  orders  that  the  men  are  to  be  turned  off  the  draining- 
works  ;  and  I  lie  awake  thinking  of  their  poor  families  this  wintry 
weather.  But  what  shall  we  do  ?  I've  never  been  strong,  and 
perhaps,  I've  been  extravagant  in  my  habits  ;  and  there  were  family 
traditions  as  to  expenditure,  and  the  reclaiming  of  this  land.  Oh  ! 
Molly,  Osborne  was  such  a  sweet  little  baby,  and  such  a  loving  boy  : 
so  clever,  too  !  You  know  I  read  you  some  of  his  poetry :  now, 
could  a  person  who  wrote  like  that  do  anything  very  wrong  ?  And 
yet  I'm  afraid  he  has." 

"  Don't  you  know,  at  all,  how  the  money  has  gone  ?  "  asked  Molly. 

"  No !  not  at  all.  That's  the  sting.  There  are  tailors'  bills, 
and  bills  for  book-binding  and  wine  and  pictures — those  come  to  four 
or  five  hundred  ;  and  though  this  expenditure  is  extraordinary — 
inexplicable  to  such  simple  old  folk  as  we  are — yet  it  may  be  only 
the  luxury  of  the  present  day.  But  the  money  for  which  he  will  give 
no  account, — of  which,  indeed,  we  only  heard  through  the  squire's 
London  agents,  who  found  out  that  certain  disreputable  attorneys 
were  making  inquiries  as  to  the  entail  of  the  estate  ; — oh !  Molly, 
worse  than  all — I  don't  know  how  to  bring  myself  to  tell  you — as  to 
the  age  and  health  of  the  squire,  his  dear  father" — (she  began 
to  sob  almost  hysterically ;  yet  she  would  go  on  talking,  in  spite  of 
Molly's  efforts  to  stop  her) — "  who  held  him  in  his  arms,  and  blessed 
him,  even  before  I  had  kissed  him  ;  and  thought  always  so  much  of 
him  as  his  heir  and  first-born  darling.  How  he  has  loved  him  ! 
How  I  have  loved  him !  I  sometimes  have  thought  of  late  that 
we've  almost  done  that  good  Roger  injustice." 

"  No  !  I'm  sure  you've  not :  only  look  at  the  way  he  loves  you. 
Why,  you  are  his  first  thought :  he  may  not  speak  about  it,  but  any 
one  may  see  it.  And  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Hamley,"  said  Molly,  deter- 
mined to  say  out  all  that  was  in  her  mind  now  that  she  had  once  got 
the  word,  "  don't  you  think  that  it  would  be  better  not  to  misjudge 
Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  ?  We  don't  know  what  he  has  done  with  the 
money  :  he  is  so  good  (is  he  not  ?)  that  he  may  have  wanted  it  to 
relieve  some  poor  person — some  tradesman,  for  instance,  pressed  by 
creditors — some " 

"  You  forget,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hamley,  smiling  a  little  at  the 
girl's  impetuous  romance,  but  sighing  the  next  instant,  "that  all  the 
other  bills  come  from  tradesmen,  who  complain  piteously  of  being 
kept  out  of  their  money." 

Vol.  I.  13 


194  -WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

Molly  was  nonpluKsecl  for  tlie  moment ;  but  then  she  said, — 

"  I  daresay  tbey  imposed  upon  liim.  I'm  sure  I've  heard  stories 
of  youug  men  being  made  regular  victims  of  by  the  shopkeepers  in 
great  towns." 

"  You're  a  great  darling,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Hamley,  comforted 
by  Molly's  strong  partisanship,  unreasonable  and  ignorant  though 
it  was, 

"  And,  besides,''  continued  Molly,  "  some  one  must  be  acting 
wrongly  in  Osborne's — Mr.  Osborne  Hamley's,  I  mean — I  can't  help 
saying  Osborne  sometimes,  but,  indeed,  I  always  think  of  him  as 
Mr.  Osborne " 

"  Never  mind,  Molly,  v>-hat  you  call  him  ;  only  go  on  talking. 
It  seems  to  do  me  good  to  hear  the  hopeful  side  taken.  The  squire 
has  been  so  hurt  and  displeased  :  strange-looking  men  coming  into 
the  neighbourhood,  too,  questioning  the  tenants,  and  grumbling 
about  the  last  fall  of  timber,  as  if  they  were  calculating  on  the 
squire's  death." 

"  That's  just  what  I  was  going  to  speak  about.  Doesn't  it  show 
that  they  are  bad  men  ?  and  would  bad  men  scruple  to  impose  upon 
him,  and  to  tell  lies  in  his  name,  and  to  ruin  him  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  see,  you  only  make  him  out  weak,  instead  of 
wicked  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  perhaps  I  do.  But  I  don't  think  he  is  weak.  You  know 
yourself,  dear  Mrs.  Hamley,  how  very  clever  he  really  is.  Besides, 
I  v/ould  rather  he  was  weak  than  wicked.  Weak  people  may  find 
themselves  all  at  once  strong  in  heaven,  when  they  see  things  quite 
clearly  ;  but  I  don't  think  the  wicked  will  turn  themselves  into 
virtuous  people  all  at  once." 

'*  I  think  I've  been  very  weak,  Molly,"  said  Mrs.  Hamley,  stroking 
Molly's  curl's  affectionately.  "  I've  made  such  an  idol  of  my  beaii- 
tiful  Osborne  ;  and  he  turns  out  to  have  feet  of  clay,  not  strong 
enough  to  stand  firm  on  the  ground.  And  that's  the  best  viev/  of  his 
conduct,  too  !  " 

Y/hat  with  his  anger  against  his  son,  and  his  anxiety  about  his 
wife  ;  the  difficulty  of  raising  the  money  immediately  required,  and 
Ills  irritation  at  the  scarce-concealed  inquiries  made  by  strangers  as 
to  the  value  of  his  property,  the  poor  squire  Avas  in  a  sad  state.  He 
was  angry  and  impatient  with  every  one  who  came  near  him  ;  and 
then  was  depressed  at  his  own  violent  temper  and  unjust  words. 
Tlie  old  servants,  who,  pcrliaps,   cheated  him  in  many  small  things, 


TROUBLE   AT   HAMLEY  HALL.  195 

•were  beautifully  patient  uuder  Lis  upbraitliugs.  They  could  uuder- 
stand  bursts  of  passion,  and  knew  the  cause  of  bis  variable  moods 
as  well  as  be  did  himself.  The  butler,  who  was  accustomed  to  argue 
M'ith  his  master  about  every  fresh  direction  as  to  his  work,  now 
nudged  Molly  at  dinner-time  to  make  her  eat  of  some  dish  which 
she  had  just  been  declining,  and  explained  his  conduct  afterwards  as 
follows  : — • 

"You  see,  miss,  me  and  cook  had  planned  a  dinner  as  would 
tempt  master  to  eat ;  but  when  you  say,  '  No,  thank  you,'  when  I 
hand  you  anything,  master  never  so  much  as  looks  at  it.  But  if  you 
take  a  thing,  and  eats  with  a  relish,  why  first  he  waits,  and  then  he 
looks,  and  by-and-by  he  smells  ;  and  then  ho  finds  out  as  he's  hungi*}-, 
and  falls  to  eating  as  natural  as  a  kitten  takes  to  mewing.  That's 
the  reason,  miss,  as  I  gave  you  a  nudge  and  a  wink,  v/hich  no 
one  knows  better  nor  me  Avas  not  manners." 

Osborne's  name  was  never  mentioned  during  these  tete-a-tete 
meals.  The  sfjuire  asked  Molly  questions  about  Hollingford  people, 
but  did  not  seem  much  to  attend  to  her  answers.  He  used  also  to 
ask  her  every  day  how  she  thought  that  his  wife  was  ;  but  if  Molly 
told  the  truth — that  every  day  seemed  to  make  her  weaker  and 
weaker — he  was  almost  savage  with  the  girl.  He  could  not  bear  it ; 
and  he  would  not.  Nay,  once  he  was  on  the  point  of  dismissing 
Mr.  Gibson  because  he  insisted  on  a  consultation  with  Dr.  NichoUs, 
the  great  physician  of  the  county. 

"  It's  nonsense  thinking  her  so  ill  as  that — you  know  it's  only 
the  delicacy  she's  had  for  years ;  and  if  you  can't  do  her  any  good 
in  such  a  simple  case — no  pain — onlj'  W'eakness  and  nervousness — it 
is  a  simple  case,  eh  ? — don't  look  in  that  puzzled  way,  man  ! — you'd 
better  give  her  up  altogether,  and  I'll  take  her  to  Bath  or  Brighton, 
or  somewhere  for  change,  for  in  my  opinion  it's  only  moping  aiad 
nervousness." 

But  the  squire's  bluff  florid  face  was  pinched  with  anxiety,  and 
worn  with  the  efiort  of  being  deaf  to  the  footsteps  of  fate  as  he  said 
these  words  which  belied  his  fears. 

Mr.  Gibson  replied  very  quietly, — 

"  I  shall  go  on  coming  to  see  her,  and  I  know  you  will  not  forbid 
my  visits.  But  I  shall  bring  Dr.  Nicholls  with  me  the  next  time  I 
come.  I  may  bo  mistaken  in  my  treatment ;  and  I  wish  to  God  he 
may  say  I  am  mistaken  in  my  apprehensions." 

"  Don't  tell  mc  them  !     I  cannot  bear  them  !  "  cried  the  squire. 

13—2 


196  "WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  Of  course  we  must  all  die;  and  slie  must  too.  But  not  the  cleverest 
doctor  in  England  shall  go  ahout  coolly  meting  out  the  life  of  such 
as  her.  I  dai-esaj^  I  shall  die  first.  I  hope  I  shall.  But  I'll  knock 
any  one  down  who  speaks  to  me  of  death  sitting  within  me.  And, 
besides,  I  think  all  doctors  are  ignorant  quacks,  pretending  to 
knowledge  they  haven't  got.  Ay,  you  may  smile  at  me.  I  don't 
care.  Unless  you  can  tell  me  I  shall  die  first,  neither  you  nor 
your  Dr.  Nicholls  shall  come  prophesying  and  croaking  about  this 
house." 

Mr.  Gibson  went  away,  heavy  at  heart  at  the  thought  of  Mrs. 
Hamley's  approaching  death,  but  thinking  little  enough  of  the 
squire's  speeches.  He  had  almost  forgotten  them,  in  fact,  when 
about  nine  o'clock  that  evening,  a  groom  rode  in  from  Hamley  Hall 
in  hot  haste,  with  a  note  from  the  squire. 

Dear  Gibson, — 

For  God's  sake  forgive  me  if  I  was  rude  to-day.  She  is  much 
worse.  Come  and  spend  the  night  here.  Write  for  Nicholls,  and 
all  the  physicians  you  want.  Write  before  you  start  ofl'  here.  They 
may  give  her  ease.  There  were  Whitworth  doctors  much  talked  of 
in  my  youth  for  curing  people  given  up  by  the  regular  doctors  ;  can't 
you  get  one  of  them  '?  I  put  myself  in  your  hands.  Sometimes  I 
think  it  is  the  turning  point,  and  she'll  rally  after  this  bout.  I  trust 
all  to  you. 

Yours  ever, 

R.  Hasiley. 
P.S. — Molly  is  a  treasure. — God  help  me  ! 

Of  course  Mr.  Gibson  went ;  for  the  first  time  since  his  marriage 
cutting  short  Mrs.  Gibson's  querulous  lamentations  oyer  her  life, 
as  involved  in  that  of  a  doctor  called  out  at  all  hours  of  day  and 
night. 

He  brought  Mrs.  Hamley  through  this  attack ;  and  for  a  day  or 
two  the  squire's  alarm  and  gratitude  made  him  docile  in  Mr.  Gibson's 
hands.  Then  he  returned  to  the  idea  of  its  being  a  crisis  through 
which  his  wife  had  passed  ;  and  that  she  was  now  on  the  way  to 
recovery.  But  the  day  after  the  consultation  with  Dr.  Nicholls, 
Mr.  Gibson  said  to  Molly, — 

"  Molly  !  I've  written  to  Osborne  and  Roger.  Do  you  know 
Osborne's  address  ?  " 


TROUBLE   AT   IIAMLEY   HALL.  197 

"  No,  papa.  He's  iu  disgrace.  I  dou't  know  if  the  squire 
knows  ;  and  she  has  been  too  ill  to  write." 

'*  Never  mind.  I'll  enclose  it  to  Roger  ;  whatever  those  lads 
may  be  to  others,  there's  a  strong  brotherly  love  as  ever  I  saw, 
between  the  two.  Koger  will  know.  And,  Molly,  they  are  sure  to 
come  home  as  soon  as  they  hear  my  report  of  their  mother's  state. 
I  wish  you'd  tell  the  squire  what  I've  done.  It's  not  a  pleasant 
piece  of  work  ;  and  I'll  tell  madam  myself  iu  my  own  way.  I'd  have 
told  him  if  he'd  been  at  home  ;  but  you  say  he  was  obliged  to  go  to 
Ashcombe  on  business." 

"  Quite  obliged.  He  was  so  sorry  to  miss  you.  But,  papa,  he 
will  be  so  angry  !     You  don't  know  how  mad  he  is  against  Osborne." 

Molly  dreaded  the  squire's  anger  when  she  gave  him  her  father's 
message.  She  had  seen  quite  enough  of  the  domestic  relations  of 
the  Hamley  family  to  understand  that,  underneath  his  old-fashioned 
courtesy,  and  the  pleasant  hospitality  he  showed  to  her  as  a  guest, 
there  was  a  strong  will,  and  a  vehement  passionate  temper,  along 
with  that  degree  of  obstinacy  in  prejudices  (or  "  opinions,"  as  he 
would  have  called  them)  so  common  to  those  who  have,  neither  in 
youth  nor  in  manhood,  mixed  largely  with  their  kind.  She  had 
listened,  day  after  day,  to  Mrs.  Hamley's  plaintive  murmurs  as  to  the 
deep  disgrace  in  which  Osborne  was  being  held  by  his  father — the 
prohibition  of  his  coming  home  ;  and  she  hardly  knew  how  to  begin 
to  tell  him  that  the  letter  summoning  Osborne  had  already  been 
sent  oti'. 

Their  dinners  were  tete-a-tete.  The  squire  tried  to  make  them 
pleasant  to  Molly,  feeling  deeply  grateful  to  her  for  the  soothing 
comfort  she  was  to  his  wife.  He  made  merry  speeches,  which  sank 
away  into  silence,  and  at  which  they  each  forgot  to  smile.  He 
ordered  up  rare  wines,  which  she  did  not  care  for,  but  tasted  oul  of 
complaisance.  He  noticed  that  one  day  she  had  eaten  some  brown 
beurre  pears  as  if  she  liked  them  ;  and  as  his  trees  had  not  produced 
many  this  year,  he  gave  directions  that  this  particular  kind  should 
be  sought  for  through  the  neighbourhood.  Molly  felt  that,  in  many 
ways,  he  was  full  of  good-will  towards  her  ;  but  it  did  not  diminish 
her  dread  of  touching  on  the  one  sore  point  in  the  family.  However, 
it  had  to  be  done,  and  that  without  delay. 

The  great  log  was  placed  on  the  after-dinner  fire,  the  hearth 
swept  up,  the  ponderous  candles  snuffed,  and  then  the  door  was  shut, 
and  Molly  and  the  squire  were  left  to  their  desseii.     She  sat  at  the 


198  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

side  of  the  table  iu  her  okl  place.  That  at  the  head  was  vacant ; 
yet  as  no  orders  had  been  given  to  the  contrary,  the  plate  and  glasses 
and  napkin  were  always  arranged  as  regularly  and  methodically  as  if 
Mrs.  Hamley  would  come  in  as  usual.  Indeed,  sometimes,  when 
the  door  by  which  she  used  to  enter  was  opened  by  any  chance, 
Molly  caught  herself  looking  round  as  if  she  expected  to  see  the  tall, 
languid  figure  in  the  elegant  draperies  of  rich  silk  and  soft  lace, 
which  Mrs.  Hamley  was  wont  to  wear  of  an  evening. 

This  evening,  it  struck  her,  as  a  new  thought  of  pain,  that  into 
that  room  she  would  come  no  more.  She  had  fixed  to  give  her 
father's  message  at  this  very  point  of  time  ;  but  something  in  her 
throat  choked  her,  and  she  hardly  knew  how  to  govern  her  voice. 
The  squire  got  up  and  went  to  the  broad  fireplace,  to  strike  into  the 
middle  of  the  great  log,  and  split  it  up  into  blazing,  sparkling  pieces. 
His  back  was  towards  her.  Molly  began,  "  When  papa  was  here 
to-day,  he  bade  me  tell  you  he  had  v/ritten  to  Mr.  Roger  Hamley  to 
say  that — that  he  thought  he  had  better  come  home  ;  and  he  enclosed 
a  letter  to  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  to  say  the  same  thing." 

The  squire  put  down  the  poker,  but  he  still  kept  his  back  to 
Molly. 

"  He  sent  for  Osborne  and  Roger  ?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

Molly  answered,  "Yes." 

Then  there  was  a  dead  silence,  which  Molly  thought  would  never 
end.  The  squire  had  placed  his  two  hands  on  the  high  chimney- 
piece,  and  stood  leaning  over  the  fire. 

"  Roger  would  have  been  down  from  Cambridge  on  the  18th," 
said  he.  "  And  he  has  sent  for  Osborne,  too  !  Did  he  know," — he 
continued,  turning  round  to  Molly,  with  something  of  the  fierceness 
she  had  anticipated  in  voice  and  look.  In  another  moment  he  had 
dropped  his  voice.  "  It  is  right,  quite  right.  I  understand.  It 
has  come  at  length.  Come  !  come !  Osborne  has  brought  it  on, 
though,"  with  a  fresh  access  of  anger  in  his  tones.  "  She  might 
have"  (some  word  Molly  could  not  hear — she  thought  it  sounded 
like  "  lingered  ")  "  but  for  that.     I  cannot  forgive  him  ;  I  cannot." 

And  then  he  suddenly  left  the  room.  While  Molly  sat  there 
still,  veiy  sad  in  her  sympathy  with  all,  he  put  his  head  in  again. — 

"  Go  to  her,  my  dear;  I  cannot — not  just  yet.  But  I  will  soon. 
Just  this  bit ;  and  after  that  I  won't  lose  a  moment.  You  are  a 
good  girl.     God  bless  you  !  " 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Molly  had  remained  all  this  time  at 


TROUBLE   AT    HAilLEY   HALL.  199 

tlic  Hall  -without  interruption.  Once  or  twice  her  father  had  brought 
her  a  summons  home.  Molly  thought  she  could  perceive  that  he  had 
brought  it  unwillingly  ;  in  fact,  it  was  Mrs.  Gibson  that  had  sent  for 
her,  almost,  as  it  were,  to  preserve  a  "right  of  v/ay"  through  her 
actions. 

"  You  shall  come  back  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,"  her  father 
had  said.  "  But  mamma  seems  to  think  people  will  put  a  bad  con- 
struction on  your  being  so  much  away  from  home  so  soon  after  our 
marriage." 

"Oh,  papa,  I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Hamley  will  miss  me!  I  do  so 
hke  being  with  her." 

"I  don't  think  it  is  likely  she  will  miss  you  as  much  as  she 
would  have  done  a  month  or  two  ago.  She  sleeps  so  much  now, 
that  she  is  scarcely  conscious  of  the  lapse  of  time.  I'll  see  that  you 
come  back  here  again  in  a  day  or  two." 

So  out  of  the  silence  and  the  soft  melancholy  of  the  Hall  Molly 
returned  into  the  all-pervading  element  of  chatter  and  gossip  at  Hol- 
lingford.  Mrs.  Gibson  received  her  kindly  enough.  Once  she  had  a 
smart  new  winter  bonnet  ready  to  give  her  as  a  present ;  but  she  did 
not  care  to  hear  any  particulars  about  the  friends  whom  Molly  had 
just  left ;  and  her  few  remarks  on  the  state  of  afiairs  at  the  Hall 
jarred  terribly  on  the  sensitive  Molly. 

"  What  a  time  she  lingers  !  Your  papa  never  expected  sho 
would  last  half  so  long  after  that  attack.  It  must  be  very  wearing 
work  to  them  all ;  I  declare  you  look  quite  another  creature  since 
you  were  there.     One  can  only  wish  it  mayn't  last,  for  their  sakes." 

"You  don't  know  how  the  squire  values  every  minute,"  said 
Molly. 

"  Why,  you  say  she  sleeps  a  great  deal,  and  doesn't  talk  much 
when  she's  awake,  and  there's  not  the  slightest  hope  for  her.  ^nd 
yet,  at  such  times,  people  are  kept  on  the  tenter- hooks  with  watching 
and  waiting.  I  kuov/  it  by  my  dear  Kirkpatrick.  There  really 
were  days  when  I  thought  it  never  would  end.  But  we  won't  talk 
any  more  of  such  dismal  things  ;  you've  had  quite  enough  of  them, 
I'm  sure,  and  it  always  makes  me  melancholy  to  hear  of  illness  and 
death  ;  and  yet  your  papa  seems  sometimes  as  if  he  could  talk  of 
nothing  else.  I'm  going  to  take  you  out  to-night,  though,  and  that 
will  give  you  something  of  a  change  ;  and  I've  been  getting  Miss 
Eose  to  trim  up  one  of  my  old  gowns  for  you ;  it's  too  tight  for  me. 
There's  some  talk  of  dancing, — it's  at  Mrs.  Edward's." 


200  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  Ob,  mamma,  I  cannot  go  ! "  cried  Molly.  "  I've  been  so  mucb 
"witb  ber  ;  and  sbe  may  be  suffering  so,  or  even  dying — and  I  to  ba 
dancing  !" 

"Nonsense!  You're  no  relation,  so  you  need  not  feel  it  so 
mucb.  I  wouldn't  urge  you,  if  sbe  was  likely  to  know  about  it  and 
be  burt ;  but  as  it  is,  it's  all  fixed  tbat  you  are  to  go  ;  and  don't  let 
us  bave  any  nonsense  about  it.  We  migbt  sit  twirling  our  tbumbs, 
and  repeating  bymns  all  our  lives  long,  if  we  were  to  do  notbing  else 
Avben  people  were  dying." 

"  I  cannot  go,"  repeated  Molly.  And,  acting  upon  impulse, 
and  almost  to  ber  own  surprise,  sbe  appealed  to  ber  fatber,  wbo  came 
into  tbe  room  at  tbis  veiy  time.  He  contracted  bis  dark  eyebrows, 
and  looked  annoyed  as  botb  wife  and  daugliter  poured  tbeir  different 
sides  of  tbe  argument  into  bis  ears.  He  sat  down  in  desperation  of 
patience.     Wben  bis  turn  came  to  pronounce  a  decision,  be  said, — 

"  I  suppose  I  can  bave  some  luncb  ?  I  went  away  at  six  tbis 
morning,  and  tbere's  notbing  in  tbe  dining-room.  I  bave  to  go  off 
again  directly." 

Molly  started  to  tbe  door  ;  Mrs.  Gibson  made  baste  to  ring  tbe 
bell. 

"  Wbere  are  you  going,  Molly  ?"  said  sbe,  sbarply. 

"  Only  to  see  about  papa's  luncb." 

"  Tbere  are  servants  to  do  it  ;  and  I  don't  like  your  going  into 
tbe  kitcben." 

"  Come,  Molly  !  sit  down  and  be  quiet,"  said  ber  fatber.  "  One 
comes  bome  wanting  peace  and  quietness— and  food  too.  If  I  am  to 
be  appealed  to,  wbicb  I  beg  I  may  not  be  anotber  time,  I  settle  tbat 
Molly  stops  at  bome  tbis  evening.  I  sball  come  back  late  and  tired. 
See  tbat  I  bave  sometbing  ready  to  cat,  goosey,  and  tben  I'll  dress 
myself  up  in  my  best,  and  go  and  fetcb  you  bome,  my  dear.  I  wish 
all  these  wedding  festivities  were  well  over.  Ready,  is  it '?  Then  I'll 
go  into  tbe  dining-room  and  gorge  myself.  A  doctor  ought  to  be 
able  to  eat  like  a  camel,  or  like  Major  Dugald  Dalgetty." 

It  was  well  for  Molly  that  callers  came  in  just  at  tbis  time,  for 
Mrs.  Gibson  was  extremely  annoyed.  They  told  her  some  little 
local  piece  of  news,  however,  which  filled  up  ber  mind ;  and  Molly 
fouud  tbat,  if  she  only  expressed  wonder  enough  at  the  engagement 
they  bad  botb  beard  of  from  the  departed  callers,  tbe  previous  dis- 
cussion as  to  ber  accompanying  her  stepmother  or  not  might  bo- 
cnthely  passed  over.     Not  entirely  though ;  for  the  next  morning  she 


TROUBLE  AT   HAMLEY   HALL.  201 

had  to  listen  to  a  very  brilliantly  touched  up  account  of  the  dance 
and  the  gaiety  which  she  had  missed ;  and  also  to  be  told  that  Mrs. 
Gibson  had  changed  her  mind  about  giving  her  the  gown,  and 
thought  now  that  she  should  reserve  it  for  Cynthia,  if  only  it  was 
long  enough  ;  but  Cynthia  was  so  tall — quite  overgrown,  in  fact. 
The  chances  seemed  equally  balanced  as  to  whether  Molly  might  not 
have  the  gown  after  all. 


(     202     ) 


CHAPTER  XYIII. 

MR.  OSBORNE'S    SECRET. 

Osborne  aucl  Roger  came  to  the  Hall ;  Molly  found  Roger  established 
there  when  she  returned  after  this  absence  at  home.  She  gathered 
that  Osborne  was  coming ;  but  very  little  was  said  about  him  in  any 
way.  The  squire  scarcely  ever  left  his  wife's  room  now ;  he  sat  by 
her,  watching  her,  and  now  and  then  moaning  to  himself.  She  was 
so  much  under  the  influence  of  opiates  that  she  did  not  often  rouse 
up ;  but  when  she  did,  she  almost  invariably  asked  for  Molly.  In 
their  rare  tcte-a-tetes,  she  would  ask  after  Osborne — where  he  was, 
if  he  had  been  told,  and  if  he  was  coming  ?  In  her  weakened  and 
confused  state  of  intellect  she  seemed  to  have  retained  two  strong 
impressions — one,  of  the  sympathy  Avith  which  Molly  had  received 
her  confidence  about  Osborne  ;  the  other,  of  the  anger  which  her 
husband  entertained  against  him.  Before  the  squire  she  never 
mentioned  Osborne's  name  ;  nor  did  she  seem  at  her  ease  in  speaking 
about  him  to  Roger,  while,  when  she  was  alone  vdth  Molly,  she 
hardly  spoke  of  any  one  else.  She  must  have  had  some  sort  of 
wandering  idea  that  Roger  blamed  his  brother,  while  she  remembered 
Molly's  eager  defence,  which  she  had  thought  hopelessly  improbable 
at  the  time.  At  any  rate  she  made  Molly  her  confidant  about  her 
first-born.  She  sent  her  to  ask  Roger  how  soon  he  would  come,  for 
the  seemed  to  know  perfectly  well  that  he  Vi'as  coming. 

"  Tell  me  all  Roger  says.     He  will  tell  you." 

But  it  was  several  days  before  Molly  could  ask  Roger  any 
questions ;  and  meanwhile  Mrs.  Hamlcy's  state  had  materially 
altered.  At  length  Molly  came  upon  Roger  sitting  in  the  library, 
his  head  buried  in  his  hands.  He  did  not  hear  her  footstep  till  she 
was  close  beside  him.  Then  he  lifted  up  his  face,  red,  and  stained 
with  tears,  his  hair  all  rufilcd  up  and  in  disorder. 


MR.   OSBORNE'S   SECRET.  203 

"I've  been  wanting  to  see  you  alone,"  she  began.  "Your 
mother  does  so  want  some  news  of  your  brother  Osborne.  She  told 
me  last  week  to  ask  you  about  him,  but  I  did  not  like  to  speak  of 
him  before  your  father." 

"  She  hardly  ever  named  him  to  me." 

"I  don't  know  why;  for  to  me  she  used  to  talk  of  him  per- 
petually. I  have  seen  so  little  of  her  this  week,  and  I  think  she 
forgets  a  great  deal  now.  Still,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  should  like  to 
be  able  to  tell  her  something  if  she  asks  me  again." 

He  put  his  head  again  between  liis  hands,  and  did  not  answer 
her  for  some  time. 

"  "WTiat  does  she  want  to  know  ?"  said  he,  at  last.  "  Does  she 
know  that  Osborne  is  coming  soon — any  day  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  she  wants  to  know  where  he  is." 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  I  don't  exactly  know.  I  believe  he's  abroad, 
but  I'm  not  sure." 

"  But  you've  sent  papa's  letter  to  him  ?  " 

"  I've  sent  it  to  a  friend  of  his  who  will  know  better  than  I  do 
where  he's  to  be  found.  You  must  knovr  that  he  isn't  free  from 
creditors,  Molly.  You  can't  have  been  one  of  the  family,  like  a  child 
of  the  house  almost,  without  knomng  that  much.  For  that  and  for 
other  reasons  I  don't  exactly  know  where  he  is." 

"  I  will  tell  her  so.     You  are  sure  he  will  come  ?" 

*'  Quite  sure.  But,  Molly,  I  think  my  mother  may  live  some 
time  yet ;  don't  you  ?  Dr.  Nicholls  said  so  yesterday  when  he  was 
here  with  your  father.  He  said  she  had  rallied  more  than  he  had 
ever  expected.  You're  not  afi-aid  of  any  change  that  makes  you  so 
anxious  for  Osborne's  coming  ?" 

"  Xo.  It's  only  for  her  that  I  asked.  She  did  seem  so  to  crave 
for  news  of  him.  I  think  she  dreamed  of  him  ;  and  then  when^she 
wakened  it  was  a  relief  to  her  to  talk  about  him  to  me.  She  always 
seemed  to  associate  me  with  him.  We  used  to  speak  so  much  of 
him  when  we  were  together.'' 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  should  any  of  us  have  done  without  you. 
You've  been  like  a  daughter  to  my  mother." 

"  I  do  so  love  her,"  said  Molly,  softly. 

"  Yes ;  I  see.  Have  you  ever  noticed  that  she  sometimes 
calls  you  '  Fanny  ? '  It  was  the  name  of  a  little  sister  of  ours 
who  died.  I  think  she  often  takes  you  for  her.  It  was  partly 
that,  and  partly  that  at  such  a  time   as  this  one  can't  stand  on 


204  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTEllS. 

formalities,  that  made  me  call  you  Molly.     I  hope  you  don't  mind 
it?" 

"No;  I  like  it.  But  will  you  tell  me  something  more  about 
your  brother  ?     She  really  hungers  for  news  of  him." 

"  She'd  better  ask  me  herself.  Yet,  no  !  I  am  so  involved  by 
promises  of  secrecy,  Molly,  that  I  couldn't  satisfy  her  if  she  once 
began  to  question  me.  I  believe  he's  in  Belgium,  and  that  he  went 
there  about  a  fortnight  ago,  partly  to  avoid  his  creditors.  You  know 
my  father  has  refused  to  pay  his  debts  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  at  least,  I  knew  something  like  it." 

"  I  don't  believe  my  father  could  raise  the  money  all  at  once 
without  having  recourse  to  steps  which  he  would  exceedingly  recoil 
from.  Yet  for  the  time  it  places  Osborne  in  a  very  awkward 
position." 

"  I  think  what  vexes  your  father  a  good  deal  is  some  mystery  as 
to  how  the  money  was  spent." 

•'  If  my  mother  ever  says  anything  about  that  part  of  the  affair," 
said  Roger,  hastily,  "  assure  her  from  me  that  there's  nothing  of  vice 
or  wrong-doing  about  it.  I  can't  say  more  :  I'm  tired.  But  set  her 
mind  at  ease  on  that  point." 

"  I'm  not  sure  if  she  remembers  all  her  painful  anxiety  about 
this,"  said  Molly.  "■  She  used  to  speak  a  great  deal  to  me  about 
him  before  you  came,  when  your  father  seemed  so  angry.  And  now, 
whenever  she  sees  me  she  wants  to  talk  on  the  old  subject ;  but  she 
doesn't  remember  so  clearly.  If  she  were  to  see  him  I  don't  believe 
she  would  recollect  why  she  was  uneasy  about  him  while  he  was 
absent." 

"  He  must  be  here  soon.  I  expect  him  every  day,"  said  Roger, 
uneasily. 

"  Do  you  think  your  father  will  be  very  angry  with  him  ?"  asked 
Molly,  with  as  much  timidity  as  if  the  squire's  displeasure  might  be 
directed  against  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Roger.  "  My  mother's  illness  may 
alter  him  ;  but  he  didn't  easily  forgive  us  formerly.  I  remember 
once — but  that  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  I  can't  help  fancying 
that  he  has  put  himself  under  some  strong  restraint  for  my 
mother's  sake,  and  that  he  won't  express  much.  But  it  doesn't 
follow  that  he  will  forget  it.  My  father  is  a  man  of  few  affections, 
but  what  he  has  are  very  strong ;  he  feels  anything  that  touches^ 
him    on   these    points    deeply    and    permanently.      That    unlucky 


MR.  oscoune's  secret.  205 

valuing  of  the  property !     It  has  given  my  father  the  idea  of  post- 
obits " 

"  What  are  they  ?"  asked  Molly. 

"  Raising  money  to  be  paid  on  my  father's  death,  which,  of 
course,  involves  Calculations  as  to  the  duration  of  his  life." 

*'  How  shocking  !  "  said  she. 

"I'm  as  sure  as  I  am  of  my  own  life  that  Osborne  never  did 
anything  of  the  kind.  But  my  father  expressed  his  suspicions  in 
language  that  irritated  Osborne  ;  and  he  doesn't  speak  out,  and 
won't  justify  himself  even  as  much  as  he  might ;  and,  much  as  he 
loves  me,  I've  but  little  influence  over  him,  or  else  he  would  tell  my 
father  all.  "Well,  we  must  leave  it  to  time,"  he  added,  sighing. 
'i>'  My  mother  would  have  brought  us  all  right,  if  she'd  been  what 
she  once  was." 

He  turned  away,  leaving  Molly  very  sad.  She  knew  that  eveiy 
member  of  the  family  she  cared  for  so  much  was  in  trouble,  out  of 
which  she  saw  no  exit ;  and  her  small  power  of  helping  them  was 
diminishing  day  by  day  as  Mrs.  Hamley  sank  more  and  more  under 
the  influence  of  opiates  and  stupefying  illness.  Her  father  had 
spoken  to  her  only  this  very  day  of  the  desirableness  of  her  returning 
home  for  good.  Mrs.  Gibson  wanted  her — for  no  particular  reason, 
but  for  many  small  fragments  of  reasons.  Mrs.  Hamley  had  ceased 
to  want  her  much,  only  occasionally  appearing  to  remember  her 
existence.  Her  position  (her  father  thought — the  idea  had  not 
entered  her  head)  in  a  family  of  which  the  only  woman  was  au 
invalid  confined  to  bed,  was  becoming  awkward.  But  Molly  had 
begged  hard  to  remain  two  or  three  days  longer — only  that — only 
till  Friday.  If  Mrs.  Hamley  should  want  her  (she  argued,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes),  and  should  hear  that  she  had  left  the  house,  she 
would  think  her  so  unkind,  so  ungrateful ! 

"  My  dear  child,  she's  getting  past  wanting  any  one  !  The 
keenness  of  earthly  feelings  is  deadened." 

"  Papa,  that  is  worst  of  all.  I  cannot  bear  it.  I  won't  believe  it. 
She  may  not  ask  for  me  again,  and  may  quite  forget  me ;  but  I'm 
sure,  to  the  very  last,  if  the  medicines  don't  stupefy  her,  she  will 
look  round  for  the  squire  and  her  children.  For  poor  Osborne  most 
of  all ;  because  he's  in  sorrow." 

Mr.  Gibson  shook  his  head,  but  said  nothing  in  reply.  In  a 
minute  or  two  he  asked, — 

"  I  don't  like  to  take  you  away  while  you  even  fancy  you  can  be 


206  VrJVES  AND   DAL'GIITERS. 

of  use  or  comfort  to  one  y;1io  lias  been  so  kin  J  to  you  ;  but,  if  she 
hasn't  wanted  you  before  Friday,  will  you  be  convinccil,  vdll  you 
come  home  willingly  ?" 

^'  If  I  go  then,  I  may  see  her  once  again,  even  if  she  hasn't  asked 
for  me  ?"  inquired  Molly. 

"  Yes,  of  course.  You  must  make  no  noise,  no  step  ;  hut  j'ou 
may  go  in  and  see  her.  I  must  tell  you,  I'm  almost  certain  she 
won't  ask  for  you." 

"  But  she  may,  papa.  I  will  go  home  on  Friday,  if  she  does 
not.     I  think  she  will." 

So  Molly  hung  about  the  house,  trying  to  do  all  she  could  out  of 
the  sick-room,  for  the  comfort  of  those  in  it.  They  only  came  out 
for  meals,  or  for  necessary  business,  and  found  little  time  for  talking 
to  her,  so  her  life  was  solitary  enough,  waiting  for  the  call  that  never 
came.  The  evening  of  the  day  on  which  she  had  had  the  above 
conversation  with  Koger,  Osborne  arrived.  He  came  straight  into 
the  drawing-room,  where  Molly  was  seated  on  the  rug,  reading  by 
firelight,  as  she  did  not  like  to  ring  for  candles  merel}^  for  her  own 
use.  Osborne  came  in,  with  a  kind  of  hurry,  v/hich  almost  made 
him,  appear  as  if  he  would  trip  himself  up,  and  iiill  down.  Molly 
rose.  He  had  not  noticed  her  before ;  now  he  came  forwards,  and 
took  hold  of  both  her  hands,  leading  her  into  the  full  flickering  light, 
and  straining  his  eyes  to  look  into  her  face. 

"How  is  she?  You  will  tell  me  —  you  must  know  the 
truth  !  I've  travelled  day  and  night  since  I  got  your  father's 
letter." 

Before  she  could  frame  her  ansvrer,  he  had  sate  down  in  the 
nearest  chair,  covering  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

"  She's  very  ill,"  said  Molly.  "  That  you  know  ;  but  I  don't 
think  she  suffers  much  pain.     She  has  wanted  you  sadly." 

He  groaned  aloud.     "  My  father  forbade  me  to  come." 

"I  know!"  said  Molly,  anxious  to  prevent  his  self-reproach. 
"  Your  brother  was  away,  too.  I  think  no  one  knew  how  ill  she  was 
— she  had  been  an  invalid  for  so  long," 

"You  know _Yes  !  she  told  you  a  great  deal — she  was  very 

fond  of  you.  And  God  knows  how  I  loved  her.  If  I  had  not  been 
ibrbidden  to  come  home,  I  should  have  told  her  all.  Does  my  father 
]:uow  of  my  coming  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Molly  ;  "  I  told  him  papa  had  sent  for  you." 

Just  at  that  moment  the  squire  came  in.     He  had  not  heard  of 


MR.  osbohne's  secret.  207 

Osborne's  an-ival,  and  was  scelciug  Molly  to  ask  Lcr  to  write  a  letter 
for  hiui. 

Osborne  did  not  stand  up  when  bis  father  entered.  He  was  too 
much  exhausted,  too  much  oppressed  by  his  feelings,  and  also  too 
much  estranged  by  bis  father's  angry,  suspicious  letters.  If  he 
had  come  forward  with  "any  manifestation  of  feeling  at  this  moment, 
everything  might  have  been  different.  But  he  waited  for  his  father 
to  SCO  him  before  he  uttered  a  word.  All  that  the  squire  said  when 
his  eye  fell  upon  him  at  last  was, — 

"■  You  here,  sir  !  " 

And,  breaking  off  in  the  directions  he  was  giving  to  Molly,  he 
abruptly  left  the  room.  All  the  time  his  heart  Avas  yearning  after  his 
lirst-born ;  but  mutual  pride  kept  them  asunder.  Yet  he  v/eut 
straight  to  the  butler,  and  asked  of  him  when  Mr.  Osborne  had 
arrived,  and  how  he  had  come,  and  if  he  had  had  any  refreshment — 
dinner  or  what — since  his  arrival  ? 

"  For  I  think  I  forget  everything  now  !  "  said  the  poor  squire, 
putting  his  hand  up  to  his  head.  "For  the  life  of  me,  I  can't 
remember  whether  we've  had  dinner  or  not ;  these  long  nights,  and 
all  this  sorrow  and  watching,  quite  bewilder  me." 

"  Perhaps,  sir,  you  will  take  some  dinner  with  Mr.  Osborne. 
Mrs.  Morgan  is  sending  up  his  dii-ectly.  You  hardly  sate  down  at 
dinner-time,  sir,  you  thought  my  mistress  wanted  something." 

"  Ay  !  I  remember  now.  No  !  I  won't  have  any  more.  Give 
Mr.  Osborne  what  wine  he  chooses.  Perhaps  he  can  eat  and  drink." 
So  the  squire  went  away  upstairs  with  bitterness  as  well  as  sorrow  in 
his  heart. 

When  lights  were  brought,  Molly  was  struck  with  the  change  in 
Osborne.  He  looked  haggard  and  worn ;  perhaps  with  travelling 
and  anxiety.  Not  quite  such  a  dainty  gentleman  either,  as  Molly 
had  thought  him,  when  she  had  last  seen  him  calling  on  her  step- 
mother, tvro  months  before.  But  she  liked  him  better  now.  The 
tone  of  his  remarks  pleased  her  more.  He  was  simpler,  and  less 
ashamed  of  showing  his  feelings.  He  asked  after  Roger  in  a  warm, 
longiug  kind  of  way.  Eoger  was  out :  he  had  ridden  to  Ashcombe 
to  transact  some  business  for  the  squire.  Osborne  evidently  wished 
for  his  return ;  and  hung  about  restlessly  in  the  drawing-room  after 
he  had  dined. 

"  You  are  sure  I  may  not  see  her  to-night  ?  "  he  asked  Molly,  for 
the  third  or  fourth  time. 


208  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"No,  indeed.  I  will  go  up  again  if  you  like  it.  But  Mrs. 
Jones,  the  nurse  Dr.  Nicliolls  sent,  is  a  very  decided  person.  I  went 
up  while  you  were  at  dinner,  and  Mrs.  Hamley  had  just  taken  her 
drops,  and  was  on  no  account  to  be  disturbed  by  seeing  any  one, 
much  less  by  any  excitement." 

Osborne  kept  walking  up  and  down  the  long  drawing-room,  half 
talking  to  himself,  half  to  Molly. 

"  I  wish  Roger  would  come.  He  seems  to  be  the  only  one  to  give 
me  a  welcome.  Does  my  father  always  live  iipstairs  in  my  mother's 
rooms.  Miss  Gibson?" 

"He  has  done  since  her  last  attack.  I  believe  he  reproaches 
himself  for  not  having  been  enough  alarmed  before." 

"  You  heard  all  the  words  he  said  to  me  ;  they  were  not  much  of 
a  welcome,  were  they  ?     And  my  dear  mother,  who  always — whether 

I  was  to  blame  or  not 1  suppose  Eoger  is  sure  to  come  home 

to-night  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  You  are  staying  here,  are  you  not  ?  Do  you  often  see  my 
mother,  or  does  this  omnipotent  nurse  keep  you  out  too  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hamley  hasn't  asked  for  me  for  three  days  now,  and  I 
don't  go  into  her  room  unless  she  asks.  I'm  leaving  on  Friday, 
I  believe." 

"  My  mother  was  very  fond  of  you,  I  know." 
After  a  while  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  had  a  great  deal  of  sensitive 
pain  in  its  tone, — 

"  I  suppose — do  you  know  whether  she  is  quite  conscious — quite 
herself?" 

"  Not  always  conscious,"  said  Molly,  tenderly.  "  She  has  to 
take  so  many  opiates.  But  she  never  wanders,  only  forgets,  and 
sleeps." 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother !  "  said  he,  stopping  suddenly,  and  hanging 
over  the  fire,  his  hands  on  the  chimney-piece. 

When  Roger  came  home,  Molly  thought  it  time  to  retire.  Poor 
girl !  it  was  getting  time  for  her  to  leave  this  scene  of  distress  in 
which  she  could  be  of  no  use.  She  sobbed  herself  to  sleep  this 
Tuesday  night.  Two  days  more,  and  it  would  be  Friday  ;  and  she 
would  have  to  wrench  up  the  roots  she  had  shot  down  into  this 
ground.  The  weather  was  bright  the  next  morning  ;  and  morning 
and  sunny  weather  cheer  up  young  hearts.  Molly  sate  in  the  dining- 
room  making  tea  for  the  gentlemen  as  they  came  down.     She  could 


MR.   OSBORNE'S   SECRET.  209 

not  help  hoping  that  the  squire  and  Osborne  might  come  to  a  better 
understanding  before  she  left ;  for  after  all,  in  the  dissension  between 
father  and  son,  lay  a  bitterer  sting  than  in  the  illness  sent  by  God. 
But  though  they  met  at  the  brealifast-table,  they  purposely  avoided 
addressing  each  other.  Perhaps  the  natural  subject  of  conversation 
between  the  two,  at  such  a  time,  would  have  been  Osborne's  long 
journey  the  night  before  ;  but  he  had  never  spoken  of  the  place  he 
had  come  from,  whether  north,  south,  east,  or  west,  and  the  squire 
did  not  choose  to  allude  to  anything  that  might  bring  out  what  his 
sou  wished  to  conceal.  Again,  there  was  an  unexpressed  idea  in 
both  their  minds  that  Mrs.  Hamley's  present  illness  was  much 
aggravated,  if  not  entirely  brought  on,  by  the  discovery  of  Osborne's 
debts ;  so,  many  inquiries  and  answers  on  that  head  were  tabooed. 
In  fact,  their  attempts  at  easy  conversation  were  limited  to  local 
subjects,  and  principally  addressed  to  Molly  or  Roger.  Such  inter- 
course was  not  productive  of  pleasure,  or  even  of  friendly  feeling, 
though  there  was  a  thin  outward  surface  of  politeness  and  peace. 
Long  before  the  day  was  over,  Molly  wished  that  she  had  acceded  to 
her  father's  proposal,  and  gone  home  with  him.  No  one  seemed  to 
want  her.  Mrs.  Jones,  the  nurse,  assured  her  time  after  time  that 
Mrs.  Hamley  had  never  named  her  name  ;  and  her  small  services  in 
the  sick-room  were  not  required  since  there  was  a  regular  nurse, 
Osborne  and  Roger  seemed  all  in  all  to  each  other ;  and  Molly  now 
felt  how  much  the  short  conversations  she  had  had  with  Roger  had 
served  to  give  her  something  to  think  about,  all  during  the  remainder 
of  her  solitary  days.  Osborne  was  extremely  polite,  and  even  ex- 
pressed his  gratitude  to  her  for  her  attentions  to  his  mother  in  a  very 
pleasant  manner ;  but  he  appeared  to  be  unwilling  to  show  her  any 
of  the  deeper  feelings  of  his  heart,  and  almost  ashamed  of  hia 
exhibition  of  emotion  the  night  before.  He  spoke  to  her  as  any 
agreeable  young  man  speaks  to  any  pleasant  young  lady  ;  but  Molly 
almost  resented  this.  It  was  only  the  squire  who  seemed  to  make 
her  of  any  account.  lie  gave  her  letters  to  write,  small  bills  to 
reckon  up ;  and  she  could  have  kissed  his  hands  for  thankfulness. 

The  last  afternoon  of  her  stay  at  the  Hall  came.  Roger  had 
gone  out  on  the  squire's  business.  Molly  went  into  the  garden, 
thinking  over  the  last  summer,  when  Mrs,  Hamley's  sofa  used  to  bo 
placed  under  the  old  cedar-tree  on  the  lawn,  and  when  the  warm  air 
seemed  to  be  scented  with  roses  and  sweetbriar.  Now,  the  trees 
leafless, — there  was  no  sweet  odour  in  the  keen  frosty  air  ;  and 
Vol.  I.  14 


210  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

looking  up  at  the  house,  there  were  the  vrhite  sheets  of  blinds, 
shutting  out  the  pale  winter  sky  from  the  invalid's  room.  Then  she 
thought  of  the  day  her  father  had  Lrought  her  the  news  of  his  second 
marriage  :  the  thicket  was  tangled  with  dead  weeds  and  rime  and 
hoar-frost ;  and  the  beautiful  fine  articulations  of  branches  and 
boughs  and  delicate  twigs  were  all  intertwined  in  leafless  distinctness 
against  the  sl^y.  Could  she  ever  be  so  passionately  unhappy  again  ? 
Was  it  goodness,  or  was  it  numbness,  that  made  her  feel  as  though, 
life  was  too  short  to  be  troubled  much  about  anything  ?  Death 
seemed  the  only  reality.  She  had  neither  energy  nor  heart  to  walk 
far  or  briskly  ;  and  turned  back  towards  the  house.  The  afternoon 
sun  was  shining  brightly  on  the  windows  ;  and,  stirred  up  to  unusual 
activity  by  some  unkno-n-n  cause,  the  housemaids  had  opened  the 
shutters  and  v/indows  of  the  generally  unused  library.  The  middle 
Vv-iudow  v^-as  also  a  door  ;  the  white-painted  wood  went  halfway  up. 
Molly  turned  along  the  little  flag-paved  path  that  led  past  the  library 
windows  to  the  gate  in  the  white  railings  at  the  front  of  the  house, 
and  went  in  at  the  opened  door.  She  had  had  leave  given  to  choose 
out  any  books  she  wished  to  read,  and  to  take  them  home  with  her  ; 
and  it  v/as  just  the  sort  of  half-dawdling  employment  suited  to  her 
taste  this  afternoon.  She  mounted  on  the  ladder  to  get  to  a  par- 
ticular shelf  high  up  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  room  ;  and  finding  there 
some  volume  that  looked  interesting,  she  sat  down  on  the  step  to  read 
part  of  it.  There  she  sat,  in  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  when  Osborne 
suddenly  came  in.  He  did  not  see  her  at  first ;  indeed,  he  seemed 
in  such  a  huriy  that  he  probably  might  not  have  noticed  her  at  all, 
if  she  had  not  spoken. 

"  Am  I  in  j-our  way  ?  I  only  came  here  for  a  minute  to  look  for 
some  books."  She  came  down  the  steps  as  she  spoke,  still  holding 
the  book  in  her  hand. 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  I  who  am  disturbing  you.  I  must  just  write 
a  letter  for  the  post,  and  then  I  shall  be  gone.  Is  not  this  open  door 
too  cold  for  3'ou  '?  " 

"  Oh,  no.     It  is  so  fresh  and  pleasant." 

She  began  to  read  again,  sitting  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  ladder ; 
he  to  write  at  the  largo  old-fashioned  writing-table  close  to  the 
window.  There  was  a  minute  or  two  of  profound  silence,  in  which 
the  rapid  scratching  of  Osborne's  pen  upon  the  paper  was  the  only 
sound.  Then  came  a  click  of  the  gate,  and  Roger  stood  at  the  open 
door.     His  face  was  towards  Osborne,  sitting  in  the  light ;  his  back 


Mil.  oseorne's  secret.  211 

to  Molly,  crouched  up  in  her  corner.  He  held  out  a  letter,  and  said 
iu  hoarse  breathlcssness — 

*'  Here's  a  letter  from  your  wife,  Osborne.  I  went  past  the  post- 
office  and  thought ' ' 

Osborne  stood  up,  angry  dismay  upon  his  face. 

"  Roger  !  what  have  you  done  !     Don't  you  see  her  ?  " 

Roger  looked  round,  and  Molly  stood  up  in  her  corner,  red, 
trembling,  miserable,  as  though  she  were  a  guilty  person.  Roger 
entered  the  room.  All  throe  seemed  to  be  equally  dismayed.  M0II3' 
was  the  first  to  speak ;  she  came  forward  and  said — 

*'  I  am  so  sorry  !  You  didn't  wish  to  hear  it,  but  I  couldn't  help 
it.  You  will  trust  me,  won't  you  ?  "  and  turning  to  Roger  she  said 
to  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes — "  Please  say  you  know  I  shall  not 
tell." 

"  We  can't  help  it,"  said  Osborne,  gloomily.  "  Only  Roger,  who 
knew  of  what  importance  it  was,  ought  to  have  looked  round  him. 
before  speaking." 

"  So  I  should,"  said  Roger.  "  I'm  more  vexed  with  myself  than 
you  can  conceive.  Not  but  what  I'm  as  sure  of  you  as  of  myself," 
continued  he,  turning  to  Molly. 

"Yes;  but,"  said  Osborne,  "you  see  how  many  chances  there 
are  that  even  the  best-meaning  persons  may  let  out  what  it  is  of  such 
consequence  to  me  to  keep  secret." 

"  I  know  you  think  it  so,"  said  Roger. 

"  Well,  don't  let  us  begin  that  old  discussion  again — at  any  rate, 
before  a  third  person." 

Molly  had  had  hard  work  all  this  time  to  keep  from  crying.  Now 
that  she  was  alluded  to  as  the  third  person  before  whom  conversation 
was  to  be  restrained,  she  said — 

"  I'm  going  away.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  been  he^-e. 
I'm  very  sorry— very.  But  I  will  try  and  forget  what  I've 
heard." 

"  You  can't  do  that,"  said  Osborne,  still  ungraciously.  "  But 
will  you  promise  me  never  to  speak  about  it  to  any  one — not  even  to 
me,  or  to  Roger  ?  Will  you  try  to  act  and  speak  as  if  you  had 
never  heard  it  ?  I'm  sure,  from  what  Roger  has  told  me  about  you, 
that  if  you  give  me  this  promise  I  may  rely  upon  it." 

"  Yes  ;  I  will  promise,"  said  Molly,  putting  out  her  hand  as  a 
kind  of  pledge.  Osborne  took  it,  but  rather  as  if  the  action  was 
superfluous.     She  added,   "I  think  I  should  have  done  so,  even 

14—2 


212  WIVES  AXD   DAUGHTEES. 

■U'itliout  a  promise.  But  it  is,  perhaps,  better  to  bind  oneself.  I  mil 
go  a-n-ay  now.     I  wish  I'd  never  come  into  this  room." 

She  put  down  her  book  on  the  table  very  softly,  and  turned  to 
leave  the  room,  choking  down  her  tears  until  she  was  in  the  solitude 
of  her  own  chamber.  But  Koger  was  at  the  door  before  her,  holding 
it  open  for  her,  and  reading — she  felt  that  he  was  reading — her  face. 
He  held  out  his  hand  for  hers,  and  his  firm  grasp  expressed  both 
S3Tiipathy  and  regret  for  what  had  occurred. 

She  could  hardly  keep  back  her  sobs  till  she  reached  her  bed- 
room. Her  feelings  had  been  overwrought  for  some  time  past, 
without  finding  the  natural  vent  in  action.  The  leaving  Hamley 
Hall  had  seemed  so  sad  before  ;  and  now  she  was  troubled  with 
having  to  bear  away  a  secret  which  she  ought  never  to  have  known, 
and  the  knowledge  of  which  had  brought  out  a  very  uncomfortable 
responsibility.  Then  there  would  arise  a  very  natural  wonder  as  to 
who  Osborne's  wife  was.  Molly  had  not  stayed  so  long  and  so 
intimately  in  the  Hamley  family  without  being  well  aware  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  future  lady  of  Hamley  was  planned  for.  The 
squire,  for  instance,  partly  in  order  to  show  that  Osborne,  his  heir, 
was  above  the  reach  of  Molly  Gibson,  the  doctor's  daughter,  in  the 
early  days  before  he  knew  Molly  well,  had  often  alluded  to  the  grand, 
the  high,  and  the  wealthy  marriage  which  Hamley  of  Hamley,  as 
represented  by  his  clever,  brilHant,  handsome  son  Osborne,  might  be 
expected  to  make.  Mrs.  Hamley,  too,  unconsciously  on  her  part, 
showed  the  projects  that  she  was  constantly  devising  for  the  reception 
of  the  unknown  daughter-in-law  that  was  to  be. 

"  The  drawing-room  must  be  refurnished  when  Osborne  marries" 
— or  "  Osborne's  wife  will  like  to  have  the  west  suite  of  rooms  to 
herself ;  it  will  perhaps  be  a  trial  to  her  to  live  with  the  old  couple  ; 
but  we  must  arrange  it  so  that  she  will  feel  it  as  little  as  possible." — 
"•Of  course,  when  Mrs.  Osborne  comes  we  must  try  and  give  her  a 
new  carriage ;  the  old  one  does  well  enough  for  us." — These,  and 
similar  speeches  had  given  Molly  the  impression  of  the  future  Mrs. 
Osborne  as  of  some  beautiful  grand  young  lady,  whose  veiy  presence 
would  make  the  old  Hall  into  a  stately,  formal  mansion,  instead  of  the 
pleasant,  unceremonious  home  that  it  was  at  present.  Osborne,  too, 
who  had  spoken  with  such  languid  criticism  to  Mrs.  Gibson  about 
various  country  belles,  and  even  in  his  own  home  was  apt  to  give 
himself  airs — only  at  home  his  airs  were  poetically  fastidious,  while 
■with  Mrs.  Gibson  they  had  been  socially  fastidious — what  uuspeak- 


MR.  OSBORNE'S  SECRET.  213 

ably  elegant  beauty  had  he  chosen  for  his  wife  ?     Who  had  satisfied 
him  ;  and  yet  satisfying  him,  had  to  have  her  marriage  kept  in  con- 
cealment from  his  parents  ?     At  length  Molly  tore  herself  up  from 
her  wonderings.     It  was  of  no  use  :  she  could  not  find  out ;  she 
might  not  even  try.     The  blank  wall  of  her  promise  blocked  up  the 
way.     Perhaps  it  was  not  even  right  to  wonder,  and  endeavour  to 
remember  slight  speeches,  casual  mentions  of  a  name,  so  as  to  piece 
them  together  into  something  coherent.     Molly  dreaded  seeing  either 
of  the  brothers  again  ;  but  they  all  met  at  dinner-time  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.     The  squire  was  taciturn,  either  from  melancholy  or 
displeasure.     He  had  never  spoken  to   Osborne   since  his  return, 
excepting  about  the  commonest  trifles,  when  intercourse  could  not  be 
avoided ;    and  his  wife's   state   oppressed  him  like  a  heavy  cloud 
coming  over  the  light  of  his  day.     Osborne  put  on  an  indifferent 
manner  to  his  father,  which  Molly  felt  sure  was  assumed  ;  but  it  was 
not  conciliatory  for  all  that.      Roger,  quiet,   steady,  and  natural, 
talked  more  than  all  the  others ;  but  he  too  was  uneasy,  and  in 
distress  on  many  accounts.     To-day  he  principally  addressed  himself 
to  Molly ;  entering  into  rather  long  narrations  of  late  discoveries  in 
natural  history,  which  kept  up  the  current  of  talk  without  requiring 
much  reply  from  any  one.     Molly  had  expected   Osborne  to  look 
something  different  from  usual — conscious,  or  ashamed,  or  resentful, 
or  even  "  married  " — but  he  was  exactly  the  Osborne  of  the  morning 
— handsome,  elegant,  languid  in  manner  and  in  look  ;  cordial  with 
his  brother,  polite  towards  her,  secretly  uneasy  at  the  state  of  things 
between  his  father  and  himself.     She  would  never  have  guessed  the 
concealed  romance  which  lay  jjenht  under  that  every-day  behaviour. 
She  had  always  wished  to  come  into  direct  contact  with  a  love-story  : 
here  she  had,  and  she  only  found  it  very  uncomfortable  ;  there  was  a 
sense  of  concealment  and  uncertainty  about  it  all ;  and  her  houtest 
straightforward  father,  her  quiet  life  at  Hollingford,  which,  even  with 
all  its  drawbacks,  was  above-board,  and  where  everybody  knew  what 
,  everybody  was  doing,   seemed  secure  and  pleasant  in   comparison. 
Of  course  she  felt  great  pain  at  quitting  the  Hall,  and  at  the  mute 
farewell  she  had  taken  of  her  sleeping  and  unconscious  friend.     But 
leaving  Mrs.  Hamley  now  was  a  different  thing  to  what  it  had  been 
a  fortnight  ago.      Then   she  was  wanted  at  any  moment,  and  felt 
herself  to  be  of  comfort.     Now  her  very  existence  seemed  forgotten 
by  the  poor  lady  whose  body  appeared  to  be  living  so  long  after 
her  soul. 


214  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTEES. 

She  was  sent  home  in  the  carriage,  loaded  with  true  thanks  from 
every  one  of  the  family.  Oshorue  ransacked  the  houses  for  flowers 
for  her  ;  Roger  had  chosen  her  out  Looks  of  every  kind.  The  squire 
himself  kept  shaking  her  hand,  without  being  able  to  speak  his 
gratitude,  till  at  last  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  as  he 
would  have  done  a  daughter. 


(     215     ) 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CYNTHIA'S   ARRIVAL. 

Molly's  father  v.-as  not  at  liome  -wlien  slie  returned  ;  and  tlierc  was 
no  one  to  give  her  a  vrelcome.  Mrs.  Gibson  was  out  paying  calls, 
the  servants  told  Molly.  She  went  upstairs  to  her  own  room, 
meaning  to  unpack  and  arrange  her  borrowed  books.  Rather  to  her 
surprise  she  saw  the  chamber,  corresponding  to  her  own,  being 
dusted ;   water  and  towels  too  were  being  carried  in. 

"  Is  any  one  coming  ?  "  she  asked  of  the  housemaid. 

"  Missus's  daughter  from  France.  Miss  lurkpatrick  is  coming 
to-morrov,-." 

Was  Cynthia  coming  at  last  ?  Oh,  what  a  pleasure  it  would  be 
to  have  a  [^companion,  a  girl,  a  sister  of  her  own  age  !  Molly's 
depressed  spirits  sprang  up  again  with  bright  elasticity.  She  longed 
for  Mrs.  Gibson's  return,  to  ask  her  all  about  it :  it  must  be  very 
sudden,  for  Mr.  Gibson  had  said  nothing  of  it  at  the  Hall  the  day 
before.  No  quiet  reading  now ;  the  books  were  hardly  put  away 
with  Molly's  usual  neatness.  She  went  down  into  the  drawing-room, 
and  could  not  settle  to  anything.  At  last  Mx'S.  Gibson  came  home, 
tired  out  with  her  walk  and  her  heavy  velvet  cloak.  Until  that  ^'as 
taken  off,  and  she  had  rested  herself  for  a  few  minutes,  she  seemed 
quite  unable  to  attend  to  Molly's  questions. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Cynthia  is  coming  home  to-morrow,  by  the  '  Umpire,' 
Avhich  passes  through  at  ten  o'clock.  AVhat  an  oppressive  day  it  is 
for  the  time  of  the  year  !  I  really  am  almost  ready  to  faint.  CjTithia 
heard  of  some  opportunity,  I  believe,  and  was  only  too  glad  to  leave 
school  a  fortnight  earlier  than  we  planned.  She  never  gave  me  the 
chance  of  writing  to  say  I  did,  or  did  not,  like  her  coming  so  much 
before  the  time  ;  and  I  shall  have  to  pay  for  her  just  the  same  as  if 
she  had  stopped.     And  I  meant  to  have  asked  her  to  bring  me  a 


216  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

Freucli  bonnet ;  and  then  you  coukl  have  liad  one  made  after  mine. 
But  I'm  very  glad  she's  coming,  poor  dear." 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  with  her  ?  "  asked  Molly. 
"  Oh,  no  !     Why  should  there  be  ?  " 

"  You  called  her  '  poor  dear,'  and  it  made  me  afraid  lest  she 
might  be  ill." 

"  Oh,  no  !  It's  only  a  way  I  got  into,  when  Mr.  Kirkpatrick 
died.  A  fatherless  girl — you  know  one  always  does  call  them  *  poor 
dears.'  Oh,  no !  Cynthia  never  is  ill.  She's  as  strong  as  a  horse. 
She  never  would  have  felt  to-day  as  I  have  done.  Could  you  get  me 
a  glass  of  wine  and  a  biscuit,  my  dear  ?     I'm  really  quite  faint." 

Mr.  Gibson  was  much  more  excited  about  Cynthia's  arrival  than 
her  own  mother  was.  He  anticipated  her  coming  as  a  great  pleasure 
to  Molly,  on  whom,  in  spite  of  his  recent  marriage  and  his  new  wife, 
his  interests  principally  centred.  He  even  found  time  to  run  upstairs 
and  see  the  bedrooms  of  the  two  girls  ;  for  the  furniture  of  which 
he  had  paid  a  pretty  round  sum. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  young  ladies  like  their  bedrooms  decked  out  in 

this  way  !     It's  very  pretty  certainly,  but " 

"  I  liked  my  own  old  room  better,  papa  ;  but  perhaps  Cynthia  is 
accustomed  to  such  decking  up." 

"  Perhaps  ;  at  any  rate,  she'll  see  we've  tried  to  make  it  pretty. 
Yours  is  like  hers.  That's  right.  It  might  have  hurt  her,  if  hers 
had  been  smarter  than  yours.  Now,  good-night  in  your  fine  flimsy 
bed." 

Molly  was  up  betimes — almost  before  it  was  light — arranging 
her  pretty  Hamley  flowers  in  Cynthia's  room.  She  could  hardly  eat 
her  breakfast  that  morning.  She  ran  upstairs  and  put  on  her  things, 
thinking  that  Mrs.  Gibson  was  quite  sure  to  go  down  to  the  "  Angel 
Inn,"  where  the  "  Umpire"  stopped,  to  meet  her  daughter  after  a 
two  years'  absence.  But,  to  her  surprise,  Mrs.  Gibson  had  arranged 
herself  at  her  great  worsted-work  frame,  just  as  usual ;  and  she,  in 
her  turn,  was  astonished  at  Molly's  bonnet  and  cloak. 

"Where  are  you  going  so  early,  child  ?  The  fog  hasn't  cleared 
away  j'et." 

"  I  thought  you  would  go  and  meet  Cynthia  ;  and  I  wanted  to  go 
with  you." 

"  She  will  be  here  in  half  an  hour  ;  and  dear  papa  has  told  the 
gardener  to  take  the  wheelbarrow  down  for  her  luggage.  I'm  not 
sure  if  he  is  not  gone  himself." 


CY^'THIA'S  ARRIVAL.  217 

"  Tlicu  are  uot  you  goiug?  "  asked  Molly,  with  a  good  deal  of 
disappoiutmeut. 

"  No,  certainly  uot.  She  will  be  here  almost  directly.  And, 
besides,  I  don't  like  to  expose  my  feelings  to  every  passer-by  in  High 
.Street.  You  forget  I  have  not  seen  her  for  two  years,  and  I  hate 
scenes  iu  the  market-place." 

She  settled  herself  to  her  work  again  ;  and  Molly,  after  some 
consideration,  gave  up  her  own  grief,  and  employed  herself  in 
looking  out  of  the  downstairs  window  which  commanded  the  approach 
from  the  town. 

"  Here  she  is — here  she  is  !  "  she  cried  out  at  last.  Her  fother 
was  walking  by  the  side  of  a  tall  young  lady ;  William  the  gardener 
was  wheeling  along  a  great  cargo  of  baggage.  Molly  flew  to  the 
front-door,  and  had  it  wide  open  to  admit  the  new-comer  some  time 
before  she  arrived. 

"  Well  !  here  she  is.  Molly,  this  is  CjTithia.  Cynthia,  Molly. 
You're  to  be  sisters,  you  kuow. 

Molly  saw  the  beautiful,  tall,  swaying  figure,  against  the  light  of 
the  open  door,  but  could  not  see  any  of  the  features  that  were,  for 
the  moment,  in  shadow.  A  sudden  gush  of  shyness  had  come  over 
her  just  at  the  instant,  and  quenched  the  embrace  she  would  have 
given  a  moment  before.  But  Cynthia  took  her  in  her  arms,  and 
kissed  her  on  both  cheeks. 

"Here's  mamma,"  she  said,  looking  beyond  Molly  on  to  the 
stairs  where  Mrs.  Gibson  stood,  wrapped  up  in  a  shawl,  and  shiver- 
ing in  the  cold.  She  ran  past  Molly  and  Mr,  Gibson,  who  rather 
averted  their  eyes  from  this  first  greeting  between  mother  and  child. 

Mrs.  Gibson  said — ■ 

"  Why,  how  you  are  grown,  darling  !     You  look  quite  a  woman." 

"  And  so  I  am,"  said  Cynthia.  "  I  was  before  I  went  away  ;  It!ve 
hardly  grown  since, — except,  it  is  always  to  be  hoped,  iu  wisdom." 

"Yes!  That  we  will  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  iu  rather  a 
meaning  way.  Indeed  there  were  evidently  hidden  allusions  in  their 
seeming  commonplace  speeches.  When  they  all  came  into  the  full 
light  and  repose  of  the  drawing-room,  Molly  was  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  Cynthia's  beauty.  Perhaps  her  features  were  not 
regular ;  but  the  changes  in  her  expressive  countenance  gave  one  no 
time  to  think  of  that.  Her  smile  was  perfect;  her  pouting  charm- 
ing ;  the  play  of  the  face  was  in  the  mouth.  Her  eyes  were  beauti- 
fully shaped,  but  their  expression  hardly  seemed  to  vary.     In  colour- 


218  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

ing  slie  was  not  unlike  her  motlier  ;  ouly  slie  liacl  not  so  much  of  the 
red-haired  tints  in  her  complexion ;  and  her  long-shaped,  serious 
grey  eyes  were  fringed  with  dark  lashes,  instead  of  her  mother's 
insipid  flaxen  ones.  Molly  fell  in  love  with  her,  so  to  speak,  on  the 
instant.  She  sate  there  warming  her  feet  and  hands,  as  much  at 
her  ease  as  if  she  had  been  there  all  her  life  ;  not  particularly  at- 
tending to  her  mother — v/ho,  all  the  time,  vras  studying  either  her 
or  her  dress — measuring  Molly  and  Mr.  Gibson  with  grave  observant 
looks,  as  if  guessing  how  she  should  like  them. 

"  There's  hot  breakfast  ready  for  you  in  the  diuiug-room,  v/hen 
you  are  ready  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Gibson.  "  I'm  sure  you  must  v.-aut 
it  after  your  night  journey."  He  looked  round  at  his  wife,  at 
Cynthia's  mother,  but  she  did  not  seem  inclined  to  leave  the  warm 
room  again. 

"  Molly  will  take  you  to  your  room,  darling,"  said  she;  "  it  is 
near  hers,  and  she  has  got  her  things  to  take  oQ*.  I'll  come  down 
and  sit  in  the  dining-room  while  you  are  having  your  breakfast,  but 
I  really  am  afraid  of  the  cold  now." 

Cynthia  rose  and  followed  Molly  upstairs. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  there  isn't  a  fire  for  you,"  said  Molly,  "  but — I 
suppose  it  wasn't  ordered ;  and,  of  course,  I  don't  give  any  orders. 
Here  is  some  hot  water,  though." 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  said  Cynthia,  getting  hold  of  both  Molly's 
hands,  and  looking  steadily  into  her  face,  but  in  such  a  manner  that 
she  did  not  dislike  the  inspection. 

"  I  think  I  shall  like  you.  I  am  so  glad  !  I  was  afraid  I  should 
not.  We're  all  in  a  very  awkward  position  together,  aren't  wo  ?  I 
like  your  father's  looks,  though." 

Molly  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  way  this  was  said.  Cynthia 
replied  to  her  smile. 

"  xWi,  you  may  laugh.  But  I  don't  know  that  I  am  easy  to  get 
on  with ;  mamma  and  I  didn't  suit  when  we  were  last  together. 
But  perhaps  v/e  are  each  of  us  wiser  now.  Now,  please  leave  me  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.     I  don't  want  anything  more." 

Molly  went  into  her  own  room,  waiting  to  show  Cynthia  down  to 
the  dining-room.  Not  that,  in  the  moderate-sized  house,  there  was 
any  difficulty  in  finding  the  way.  A  very  little  trouble  in  con- 
jecturing would  enable  a  stranger  to  discover  any  room.  But  Cyn- 
thia had  so  captivated  Molly,  that  she  wanted  to  devote  herself  to 
the  new-comer's  service.     Ever  since  she  had  heard  of  the  proba- 


f'iRST     lLiIPSBiSIO:gS 


I 


CYNTHIA'S   AllRIVAL.  219 

tility  of  her  having  a  sister — (she  called  her  a  sister,  hut  whether  it 
was  a  Scotch  sister,  or  a  sister  a  hi  mode  dc  Bretinjuc,  ^voulcl  have 
puzzled  most  people)- — IMolly  had  allowed  her  foncy  to  dwell  much 
on  the  idea  of  Cynthia's  coming ;  and  in  the  short  time  since  they 
had  met,  Cynthia's  unconscious  power  of  fascination  had  hcen  exer- 
cised upon  her.  Some  people  have  this  power.  Of  course,  its  effects 
are  only  manifested  in  the  susceptihle.  A  school-girl  may  be  found 
in  every  school  who  attracts  and  influences  all  the  others,  not  by  her 
virtues,  nor  her  beauty,  nor  her  sweetness,  nor  her  cleverness,  but 
by  something  that  can  neither  be  described  nor  reasoned  upon.  It 
is  the  something  alluded  to  in  the  old  lines  : — 

Love  mc  not  for  comely  grace, 
For  my  pleasing  eye  and  face; 
No,  nor  for  my  constant  heart, — 
Por  these  may  change,  and  tnni  to  ill, 
And  thus  true  love  may  sever. 
But  love  me  on,  and  know  not  why. 
So  hast  thou  the  same  reason  still 
To  dote  upon  mc  ever. 

A  woman  will  have  this  charm,  not  only  over  men  but  over  her  own 
sex ;  it  cannot  be  defined,  or  rather  it  is  so  delicate  a  mixture  of 
many  gifts  and  qualities  that  it  is  impossible  to  decide  on  the  pro- 
portions of  each.  Perhaps  it  is  incompatible  with  very  high  prin- 
ciple ;  as  its  essence  seems  to  consist  in  the  most  exquisite  povv'er  of 
adaptation  to  varying  people  and  still  more  various  moods;  "being 
all  things  to  all  men."  At  any  rate,  Molly  might  soon  have  been 
aware  that  Cynthia  was  not  remarkable  for  unflinching  morality  ;  but 
the  glamour  throv.'n  over  her  would  have  prevented  Molly  from  any 
attempt  at  penetrating  into  and  judging  her  companion's  character, 
even  had  such  processes  been  the  least  in  accordance  with  her  own 
disposition.  ^' 

Cynthia  was  very  beautiful,  and  was  so  well  aware  of  this  fact 
that  she  had  forgotten  to  care  about  it ;  no  one  with  such  loveliness 
ever  appeared  so  little  conscious  of  it.  Molly  would  watch  her  per- 
petually as  she  went  about  the  room,  with  the  free  stately  step  of 
some  wild  animal  of  the  forest — moving  almost,  as  it  were,  to  the 
continual  sound  of  music.  Her  dress,  too,  though  now  to  our  ideas 
it  would  be  considered  ugly  and  disfiguring,  was  suited  to  her  com- 
plexion and  figure,  and  the  fashion  of  it  subdued  within  due  bounds 
by  her  exquisite  taste.  It  was  inexpensive  enough,  and  the  changes 
in  it  were  but  fcv/.     Mrs.  Gibson  professed  herself  shocked  to  find 


220  WIVES  AIsD   DAUGHTEES. 

that  Cynthia  had  but  four  gowus,  when  she  might  have  stocked  her- 
self so  well,  and  brought  over  so  many  useful  French  patterns,  if  she 
had  but  patiently  Avaited  for  her  mother's  answer  to  the  letter  which 
she  had  sent,  announcing  her  return  by  the  opportunity  madame  had 
found  for  her.  Molly  was  hurt  for  Cynthia  at  all  these  speeches ; 
she  thought  they  implied  that  the  pleasure  which  her  mother  felt  in 
seeing  her  a  fortnight  sooner  after  her  two  years'  absence  was  inferior 
to  that  which  she  would  have  received  from  a  bundle  of  silver-paper 
patterns.  But  Cynthia  took  no  apparent  notice  of  the  frequent 
recurrence  of  these  small  complaints.  Indeed,  she  received  much  of 
what  her  mother  said  with  a  kind  of  complete  inditierence,  that  made 
Mrs.  Gibson  hold  her  rather  in  awe;  and  she  was  much  mor& com- 
municative to  Molly  than  to  her  own  child.  With  regard  to  dress, 
however,  Cynthia  soon  showed  that  she  was  her  mother's  own 
daughter  in  the  manner  in  which  she  could  use  her  deft  and  nimble 
fingers.  She  was  a  capital  workwoman ;  and,  unlike  Molly,  who 
excelled  in  plain  sewing,  but  had  no  notion  of  dressmaking  or  milli- 
nery, she  could  repeat  the  fashions  she  had  only  seen  in  passing 
along  the  streets  of  Boulogne,  with  one  or  two  pretty  rapid  move- 
ments of  her  hands,  as  she  turned  and  twisted  the  ribbons  and  gauze 
her  mother  furnished  her  with.  Bo  she  refurbished  Mrs.  Gibson's 
wardrobe  ;  doing  it  all  in  a  sort  of  contemptuous  manner,  the  source 
of  which  Molly  could  not  quite  make  out. 

Day  after  day  the  course  of  these  small  frivolities  was  broken  iu 
upon  by  the  news  Mr.  Gibson  brought  of  Mrs.  Hamley's  nearer 
approach  to  death.  Molly — very  often  sitting  by  Cynthia,  and  sur- 
rounded by  ribbon,  and  wire,  and  net — heard  the  bulletins  like  the 
toll  of  a  funeral  bell  at  a  marriage  feast.  Her  father  sympathized 
with  her.  It  was  the  loss  of  a  dear  friend  to  him  too  ;  but  he  was 
so  accustomed  to  death,  that  it  seemed  to  him  but  as  it  was,  the 
natural  end  of  all  things  human.  To  Molly,  the  death  of  some  one 
she  had  known  so  well  and  loved  so  much,  was  a  sad  and  gloomy 
phenomenon.  She  loathed  the  small  vanities  with  which  she  was 
surrounded,  and  would  wander  out  into  the  frosty  garden,  and  pace 
the  walk,  which  was  both  sheltered  and  concealed  by  evergreens. 

At  length — and  yet  it  was  not  so  long,  not  a  fortnight  since 
Molly  had  left  the  Hall — the  end  came.  Mrs.  Hamley  had  sunk  out 
of  life  as  gradually  as  she  had  sunk  out  of  consciousness  and  her 
place  in  this  world.  The  quiet  waves  closed  over  her,  and  her  place 
knew  her  no  more. 


CYNTHIA'S   ARRIVAL.  221 

"They  all  scut  their  love  to  3'ou,  Molly,"  said  licr  father. 
"  Roger  said  he  knew  how  you  would  feel  it." 

Mr.  Gibsou  had  come  iu  very  late,  and  was  having  a  solitary 
dinner  in  the  dining-room.  Molly  was  sitting  near  him  to  keep  him 
company.  Cynthia  and  her  mother  were  upstairs.  The  latter  was 
trying  on  a  head-dress  which  Cynthia  had  made  for  her. 

Molly  remained  downstairs  after  her  father  had  gone  out  afresh 
on  his  final  round  among  his  town  patients.     The  fire  was  growing 
very  low,  and  the  lights  were  waning.     Cynthia  came  softly  in,  and 
taking  Molly's  listless  hand,  that  hung  down  by  her  side,  sat  at  her 
feet  on  the  rug,  chafing  her  chilly  fingers  without   speaking.     The 
tender  action  thawed  the  tears  that  had  been  gathering  heavily  at 
Molly's  heart,  and  they  came  dropping  down  her  cheeks. 
"  You  loved  her  dearly,  did  you  not,  Molly  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  sobbed  Molly;  and  then  there  was  a  silence. 
"  Had  you  known  her  long  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  year.     But  I  had  seen  a  great  deaFof  her.     I  was 
almost  like  a  daughter  to  her ;  she  said  so.     Yet  I  never  bid  her 
good-by,  or  anything.     Her  mind  became  w^eak  and  confused." 
"  She  had  only  sons,  I  think  ?  " 

"  No ;  only  Mr.  Osborne  and  Mr.  Eoger  Hamley.  She  had  a 
daughter  once — '  Fanny.'  Sometimes,  in  her  illness,  she  used  to 
call  me  '  Fanny.'  " 

The  two  girls  were  silent  for  some  time,  both  gazing  into  the 
fire.     Cynthia  spoke  first : — ■ 

*'  I  wish  I  could  love  people  as  you  do,  Molly !  " 
"  Don't  you  ?  "  said  the  other,  in  surprise. 
"No.     A  good  number  of  people  love  me,  I  believe,  or  at  least 
they  think  they  do  ;  but  I  never  seem  to  care  much  for  any  one.     I 
do  believe  I  love  you,  little  Jlolly,  whom  I  have  only  known  for  tfeu 
days,  better  than  any  one." 

"  Not  than  your  mother  ?  "  said  Molly,  in  grave  astonishment. 
"  Yes,  than  my  mother  !  "  replied  Cynthia,  half-smiling.  "  It's 
very  shocking,  I  daresay  ;  but  it  is  so.  Now,  don't  go  and  condemn 
me.  I  don't  think  love  for  one's  mother  quite  comes  by  nature  ;  and 
remember  how  much  I  have  been  separated  from  mine  !  I  loved  my 
father,  if  you  will,"  she  continued,  with  the  force  of  truth  in  her 
tone,  and  then  she  stopped  ;  "  but  he  died  when  I  was  quite  a  little 
thing,  and  no  one  behoves  that  I  remember  him.  I  heard  mamma 
say  to  a  caller,  not  a  fortnight  after  his  funeral,  '  Oh,  no,  Cynthia  is 


222  ^VIVES   AXD   DAUGHTERS. 

loo  young ;  slie  lias  quite  forgotten  liim  '• — and  I  bit  my  lips,  to  keep 
from  crying  out,  '  Papa !  papa !  have  I  ?  '  But  it's  of  no  use. 
Well,  then  mamma  had  to  go  out  as  a  governess ;  she  couldn't  help 
it,  poor  thing !  but  she  didn't  much  care  for  parting  with  me.  I 
•was  a  trouble,  I  daresay.  So  I  was  sent  to  school  at  four  years  old ; 
■  first  one  school,  and  then  another ;  and  in  the  holidays,  mamma 
went  to  stay  at  grand  houses,  and  I  was  generally  left  with  the 
schoolmistresses.  Once  I  went  to  the  Towers  ;  and  mamma  lectured 
me  continually,  and  yet  I  was  very  naughty,  I  belieye.  And  so  I 
never  went  again ;  and  I  was  very  glad  of  it,  for  it  was  a  horrid 
place." 

"  That  it  was,"  said  Molly,  who  remembered  her  own  day  of 
tribulation  there. 

"  And  once  I  went  to  London,  to  stay  v/ith  my  uncle  Kirhpatrich. 
He  is  a  lawyer,  and  getting  on  now;  but  then  he  was  poor  enough, 
and  had  six  or  seven  children.  It  was  winter-time,  and  we  were  all 
shut  up  in  a  small  house  in  Doughty  Street.  But,  after  all,  that 
wasn't  so  bad." 

"  But  then  you  lived  with  your  mother  when  she  began  school  at 
Ashcombe.  Mr.  Preston  told  mc  that,  when  I  stayed  that  day  at  the 
Manor-house." 

"  What  did  he  tell  j'ou  ?  "  ashed  Cynthia,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Nothing  but  that.  Oh,  yes  !  Ho  praised  your  beauty,  and 
wanted  me  to  tell  you  what  he  had  said." 

"  I  should  have  hated  you  if  you  had,"  said  Cynthia. 

"  Of  course  I  never  thought  of  doing  such  a  thing,"  replied 
Molly.  *' I  didn't  like  him;  and  Lady  Harriet  spoke  of  him  the 
next  day,  as  if  he  wasn't  a  person  to  be  liked." 

Cynthia  was  quite  silent.     At  length  she  said, — 

"  I  wish  I  was  good  !  " 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Molly,  simply.  She  was  thinking  again  of  Mrs. 
Hamley, — 

Only  the  actions  of  the  just 

Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust, 

and  "  goodness  "just  then  seemed  to  her  to  be  the  only  endearing 
thing  in  the  world. 

"Nonsense,  Molly!"  You  are  good.  At  least,  if  you're  not 
good,  what  am  I  ?  There's  a  rule-of-threc  sum  for  you  to  do  !  But 
it's  no  use  talking  ;  I  am  not  good,  and  I  never  shall  be  now.     Per- 


CYNTHIA'S   ARRIVAL.  223 

haps  I  inigiit  Lc  a  hcroiuc  still,  but  I  shall  ucvcr  he  ci  good  woman, 
I  know." 

"  Do  you  think  it  easier  to  bo  a  heroine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  far  as  one  knows  of  heroines  from  history.  I'm  capable 
of  a  great  jerk,  an  effort,  and  then  a  relaxation — but  steady,  every- 
day goodness  is  beyond  me.     I  must  bo  a  moral  kangaroo !  " 

Molly  could  not  follow  Cynthia's  ideas ;  she  could  not  distract 
herself  from  the  thoughts  of  the  sorrowing  group  at  the  Hall. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  them  all !  and  j'ct  one  can  do  nothing 
at  such  a  time !  Papa  says  the  funeral  is  to  be  on  Tuesday,  and 
that,  after  that,  Eoger  Hamley  is  to  go  back  to  Cambridge.  It  will 
seem  as  if  nothing  had  happened  !  I  wonder  how  the  squire  and 
Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  will  get  on  together." 

"  He's  the  eldest  son,  is  he  not  ?  T^hy  shouldn't  he  and  his 
father  get  on  well  together  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh !  I  don't  knovr.  That  is  to  say,  I  do  know,  hut  I  think  I 
ought  not  to  tell." 

"  Don't  be  so  pedantically  truthful,  Molly.  Besides,  your  manner 
shows  when  you  speak  truth  and  when  you  speak  falsehood,  without 
troubling  yourself  to  use  words.  I  knew  exactly  what  your  '  I  don't 
know  '  meant.  I  never  consider  myself  bound  to  be  truthful,  so  I 
beg  v.-e  may  be  on  equal  terms." 

Cynthia  might  well  say  she  did  not  consider  herself  bound  to  be 
truthful ;  she  literally  said  what  came  uppermost,  wdthout  caring 
very  much  whether  it  was  accurate  or  not.  But  there  was  no  ill- 
nature,  and,  in  a  general  way,  no  attempt  at  procuring  any  advantage 
for  herself  in  all  her  deviations;  and  there  was  often  such  a  latent 
sense  of  fan  in  them  that  Molly  could  not  help  being  amused  with 
them  in  fact,  though  she  condemned  them  in  theory.  Cynthia's 
j)layfulness  of  manner  glossed  such  failings  over  w-ith  a  kind  of 
cliarm ;  and  yet,  at  times,  she  was  so  soft  and  sjTupathetic  that 
Molly  could  not  resist  her,  even  when  she  affirmed  the  most  startlino' 
things.  The  little  account  she  made  of  her  own  beauty  pleased 
Mr.  Gibson  extremely ;  and  her  j)retty  deference  to  him  won  his 
heart.  She  was  restless  too,  till  she  had  attacked  Molly's  dress, 
after  she  had  remodelled  her  mother's. 

"  Now  for  you,  sweet  one,"  said  she  as  she  began  upon  one  of 
Molly's  gowns.  "I've  been  working  as  connoisseur  until  now. 
Now  I  begin  as  amateur." 

She  brought  dovm  her  pretty  artificial  flowers,  plucked  out  of  her 


224  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTEES. 

own  best  bonnet  to  put  into  Molly's,  saying  they  would  suit  her  com- 
plexion, and  that  a  knot  of  ribbons  would  do  well  enough  for  her. 
All  the  time  she  worked,  she  sang  ;  she  had  a  sweet  voice  in  singing, 
as  well  as  in  speaking,  and  used  to  run  up  and  down  her  gay  French 
chansons  without  any  difficulty  ;  so  flexible  in  the  art  was  she.  Yet 
she  did  not  seem  to  care  for  music.  She  rarely  touched  the  piano  on 
which  Molly  practised  with  daily  conscientiousness.  Cynthia  was 
always  willing  to  answer  questions  about  her  previous  life,  though, 
after  the  first,  she  rarely  alluded  to  it  of  herself;  but  she  was  a  most 
sympathetic  listener  to  all  Molly's  innocent  coniidences  of  joys  and 
sorrows  :  sympathizing  even  to  the  extent  of  wondering  how  she 
could  endure  Mr,  Gibson's  second  marriage,  and  why  she  did  not 
take  some  active  steps  of  rebellion. 

In  spite  of  all  this  agreeable  and  pungent  variety  of  companion- 
ship at  home,  Molly  yearned  after  the  Hamleys.  If  there  had  been 
a  woman  in  that  family  she  would  probably  have  received  many  little 
notes,  and  heard  numerous  details  which  were  now  lost  to  her,  or 
summed  up  in  condensed  accounts  of  her  father's  visits  at  the  Hall, 
which,  since  his  dear  patient  was  dead,  were  only  occasional. 

"  Yes  !  The  squire  is  a  good  deal  changed  ;  but  he's  better 
than  he  was.  There's  an  unspoken  estrangement  between  him  and 
Osborne ;  one  can  see  it  iu  the  silence  and  constraint  of  their 
manners  ;  but  outwardly  they  are  friendly — civil  at  any  rate.  The 
squire  will  always  respect  Osborne  as  his  heir,  and  the  future  repre- 
sentative of  the  family.  Osborne  doesn't  look  well ;  he  says  he 
wants  change.  I  think  he's  weary  of  the  domestic  tete-a-tete,  or 
domestic  dissension.  But  he  feels  his  mother's  death  acutely.  It's 
a  wonder  that  he  and  his  father  are  not  drawn  together  by  their 
common  loss.  Roger's  away  at  Cambridge  too — examination  for  the 
mathematical  tripos.  Altogether  the  aspect  of  both  people  and  place 
is  changed  ;  it  is  but  natural !  " 

Such  is  perhaps  the  summing-up  of  the  news  of  the  Hamleys,  as 
contained  in  many  bulletins.  They  always  ended  in  some  kind 
message  to  Molly. 

Mrs.  Gibson  generally  said,  as  a  comment  upon  her  husband's 
account  of  Osborne's  melancholy, — 

"  My  dear  !  why  don't  you  ask  him  to  dinner  here  ?  A  little 
quiet  dinner,  you  know.  Cook  is  quite  up  to  it ;  and  wo  would  all  of 
us  wear  blacks  and  lilacs  ;  he  couldn't  consider  that  as  gaiety." 

Mr.  Gibson  took  no  more  notice  of  these  suggestions  than  by 


CrXTHIA'S  AnniYAL.  225 

■shaking  his  head.  He  had  grown  accustomed  to  his  wife  hy  this 
time,  and  regarded  silence  on  his  own  part  as  a  great  preser\-ative 
against  long  inconsequential  arguments.  But  every  time  that  Mrs. 
Gibson  was  struck  by  Cynthia's  beauty,  she  thought  it  more  and 
I  more  advisable  that  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  should  be  cheered  up  by  a 
quiet  little  dinner-party.  As  yet  no  one  but  the  ladies  of  Holling, 
ford  and  Mr.  Ashton,  the  vicar — that  hopeless  and  impracticable  old 
bachelor — had  seen  Cynthia  ;  and  what  was  the  good  of  having  a 
lovely  daughter,  if  there  wei'e  none  but  old  women  to  admire  her  ? 

Cynthia  herself  appeared  extremely  indiiierent  upon  the  subject, 
and  took  very  little  notice  of  her  mother's  constant  talk  about  the 
gaieties  that  were  possible,  and  the  gaieties  that  were  impossible,  in 
!  Hollingford.  She  exerted  hei'self  just  as  much  to  chaiTu  the  two 
Miss  Brownings  as  she  would  have  done  to  delight  Osborne  Hamley, 
or  any  other  j'oung  heii*.  That  is  to  say,  she  used  no  exertion,  but 
■simply  followed  her  own  nature,  which  was  to  attract  every  one  of 
those  she  was  thrown  amongst.  The  exertion  seemed  rather  to  be  to 
refrain  firom  doing  so,  and  to  protest,  as  she  so  often  did,  by  slight 
words  and  expressive  looks  against  her  mother's  words  and  humours 
■ — alike  against  her  folly  and  her  caresses.  Molly  was  almost  soriy 
for  Mrs.  Gibson,  who  seemed  so  unable  to  gain  influence  over  her 
:child.     One  day  Cynthia  read  Molly's  thought. 

"I  am  not  good,  and  I  told  you  so.  Somehow,  I  cannot  forgive 
"Jier  for  her  neglect  of  me  as  a  child,  when  I  would  have  clung  to  her. 
IBesides,  I  hardly  ever  heard  from  her  when  I  was  at  school.  And  I 
iknow  she  put  a  stop  to  my  coming  over  to  her  wedding.  I  saw  the 
letter  she  wrote  to  Madame  Lefebre.  A  child  should  be  brought  up 
with  its  parents,  if  it  is  to  think  them  infallible  when  it  grows  up." 

"  But  though  it  may  know  that  there  must  be  faults,"  replied 
•Molly,  "it  ought  to  cover  them  over  and  try  to  forget  their  existence. "t. 

"It  ought.  But  don't  you  see  I  have  grown  up  outside  the  pale 
of  duty  and  '  oughts.'  Love  mo  as  I  am,  sweet  one,  for  I  shall 
;aever  be  better." 


YoL.  I.  15 


(     226     ) 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MES.   GIBSON'S  VISITORS. 

One  day,  to  Molly's  iufiuitc  surprise,  Mr.  Prestou  was  announced  as 
a  caller.  Mrs.  Gibson  and  she  were  sitting  together  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  Cynthia  was  out — gone  into  the  town  a-shojoping — when  the 
door  was  opened,  the  name  given,  and  in  walked  the  young  man. 
His  entrance  seemed  to  cause  more  confusion  than  Molly  could  well 
account  for.  He  came  in  with  the  same  air  of  easy  assurance  with 
which  he  had  received  her  and  her  father  at  Ashcombe  Manor-house. 
He  looked  remarkably  handsome  in  his  riding-dress,  and  with  the 
open-air  exercise  he  had  just  had.  But  Mrs.  Gibson's  smooth  brows 
contracted  a  little  at  the  sight  of  him,  and  her  reception  of  him  was 
much  cooler  than  that  which  she  usually  gave  to  visitors.  Yet  there 
was  a  degree  of  agitation  in  it,  which  surprised  Molly  a  little.  Mrs. 
Gibson  was  at  her  everlasting  worsted-work  frame  when  he  entered 
the  room  ;  but  somehow  in  rising  to  receive  him,  she  threw  down 
her  basket  of  crewels,  and,  declining  Molly's  offer  to  help  her,  she 
would  pick  up  all  the  reels  herself,  before  she  asked  her  visitor  to  sit 
dovm.  He  stood  there,  hat  in  hand,  affecting  an  interest  in  the 
recoveiw  of  the  worsted  v/hich  Molly  was  sure  he  did  not  feel ;  for  all 
the  time  his  eyes  were  glancing  round  the  room,  and  taking  note  of 
the  details  in  the  arrangement. 

At  length  they  were  seated,  and  conversation  began. 

"It  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  in  HoUingford  since  j'our 
marriage,  Mrs.  Gibson,  or  I  should  certainly  have  called  to  pay  my 
respects  sooner." 

"  I  know  you  are  very  busy  at  Ashcombe.  I  did  not  expect  you 
to  call.  Is  Lord  Cumnor  at  the  Towers  '?  I  have  not  heard  from 
her  ladyship  for  more  than  a  week  !  " 

"No!  he  seemed  still  detained  at  Bath.     But  I  had  a  letter 


MES.   GIBSON'S  VISITORS.  227 

from  him  giving  me  certain  mess.iges  for  Mr.  Sheepshanks.  Mr. 
Gibson  is  not  at  home,  I'm  afraid  ?  " 

"No.  He  is  a  great  deal  out — almost  constantly,  I  may  say.  I 
had  uo  idea  that  I  should  see  so  little  of  him.  A  doctor's  wife  leads 
a  very  solitary  life,  Mr.  Preston  !  " 

"  You  can  hardly  call  it  solitary,  I  should  think,  when  you  have 
such  a  companion  as  Miss  Gibson  always  at  hand,"  said  he,  bowing 
to  Molly. 

"  Oh,  but  I  call  it  solitude  for  a  wife  when  her  husband  is  away. 
Poor  Mr.  Kirkpatrick  was  never  happy  unless  I  always  went  with 
him  ; — all  his  walks,  all  his  visits,  he  liked  me  to  be  with  him.  But 
somehow  Mr.  Gibson  feels  as  if  I  should  be  rather  in  his  way." 

"  I  don't  think  you  could  ride  pillion  behind  him  on  Black  Bess, 
mamma,"  said  Molly.  "And  unless  you  could  do  that,  you  could 
hardly  go  with  him  in  his  rounds  up  and  down  all  the  rough  lanes." 

"  Oh  !  but  he  might  keep  a  brougham !  I've  often  said  so. 
And  then  I  could  use  it  for  visiting  in  the  evenings.  Eeally  it  was 
one  reason  why  I  didn't  go  to  the  Hollingford  Charity  Ball.  I 
couldn't  bring  myself  to  use  the  dirty  fly  from  the  '  Angel.'  We 
really  must  stir  papa  up  against  next  winter,  Molly  ;  it  will  never  do 
for  you  and " 

She  pulled  herself  up  suddenly,  and  looked  fartively  at  Mr.  Preston 
to  see  if  he  had  taken  any  notice  of  her  abruptness.  Of  course 
he  had,  but  he  was  not  going  to  show  it.  He  turned  to  Molly,  and 
said, — 

"  Have  you  ever  been  to  a  public  ball  yet,  Miss  Gibson  ?  " 

"No!"  said  Molly. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  you  when  the  time  comes." 

"  I'm  not  sure.  I  shall  like  it  if  I  have  plenty  of  partners  ;  but 
I'm  afi-aid  I  shan't  know  many  people."  v 

"  And  you  suppose  that  young  men  haven't  their  own  ways  and 
means  of  being  introduced  to  pretty  girls  ?  " 

It  was  exactly  one  of  the  speeches  Molly  had  disliked  him  for 
before  ;  and  delivered,  too,  in  that  kind  of  underbred  manner  which 
showed  that  it  was  meant  to  convey  a  personal  compliment.  Molly 
took  great  credit  to  herself  for  the  unconcerned  manner  with  which 
she  went  on  with  her  tattling  exactly  as  if  she  had  never  heard  it. 

"  I  only  hope  I  may  be  one  of  your  partners  at  the  first  ball  you 
go  to.  Pray,  remember  my  early  application  for  that  honour,  when 
you  are  overwhelmed  with  requests  for  dances." 

15—2 


228  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

"I  don't  choose  to  engage  myself  beforehand,"  said  Molly, 
perceiving,  from  under  her  dropped  eyelids,  that  he  was  leaning 
forward  and  looking  at  her  as  though  he  was  determined  to  have  an 
answer. 

"Young  ladies  are  always  very  cautious  in  fact,  however  modest 
they  may  he  in  profession,"  he  replied,  addressing  himself  in  a  non- 
chalant manner  to  Mrs.  Gibson.  "  In  spite  of  Miss  Gibson's  appre- 
hension of  not  having  many  partners,  she  declines  the  certainty  of 
having  one.  I  suppose  Miss  Kirkpatrick  will  have  returned  from 
France  before  then  ?" 

He  said  these  last  words  exactly  in  the  same  tone  as  he  had  used 
before  ;  but  Molly's  instinct  told  her  that  he  was  making  an  effort 
to  do  so.  She  looked  up.  He  was  playing  with  his  hat,  almost  as 
if  he  did  not  care  to  have  any  answer  to  his  question.  Yet  he  was 
listening  acutely,  and  with  a  half  smile  on  his  face. 
Mrs.  Gibson  reddened  a  little,  and  hesitated, — 
"Yes;  certainly.  My  daughter  will  be  with  us  next  winter,  I 
believe  ;  and  I  daresay  she  will  go  out  with  us." 

"  "Why  can't  she  say  at  once  that  Cynthia  is  here  now?"  asked 
Molly  of  herself,  yet  glad  that  Mr.  Preston's  curiosity  was  baffled. 

He  still  smiled  ;  but  this  time  he  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Gibson,  as 
he  asked, — "  You  have  good  news  from  her,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  veiy.  By  the  way,  how  are  our  old  friends  the  Robinsons  ? 
How  often  I  think  of  their  kindness  to  mo  at  Ashcombe  !  Dear 
good  people,  I  wish  I  could  see  them  again." 

"  I  will  certainly  tell  them  of  your  kind  inquiries.  They  are 
very  well,  I  believe." 

Just  at  this  moment,  Molly  heard  the  familiar  sound  of  the  click 
and  opening  of  the  front  door.  She  knew  it  must  be  Cynthia  ;  and, 
conscious  of  some  mysterious  reason  which  made  Mrs.  Gibson  wish 
to  conceal  her  daughter's  whereabouts  from  Mr.  Preston,  and  ma- 
liciously desirous  to  baffle  him,  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  and  meet 
Cynthia  on  the  stairs ;  but  one  of  the  lost  crewels  of  worsted  had 
entangled  itself  in  her  gown  and  feet,  and  before  she  had  freed  herself 
of  her  encumbrance,  Cynthia  had  opened  the  drawing-room  door, 
and  stood  in  it,  looking  at  her  mother,  at  Molly,  at  Mr.  Preston,  but 
not  advancing  one  step.  Her  colour,  which  had  been  brilliant  the 
first  moment  of  her  entrance,  faded  away  as  she  gazed  ;  but  her 
eyes — her  beautiful  eyes — usually  so  soft  and  grave,  seemed  to  fill 
with  fire,  and  her  brows  to  contract,  as  she  took  the  resolution  to 


MRS.   GIBSON'S  VISITORS.  229 

come  forwanl  and  take  licr  place  among  the  three,  who  were  all 
looking  at  her  with  diflerent  emotions.  She  moved  calmly  and 
slowly  forwards ;  Mr.  Preston  went  a  step  or  two  to  meet  her,  his 
hand  held  out,  and  the  whole  expression  of  his  face  that  of  eager 
delight. 

But  she  took  no  notice  of  the  outstretched  hand,  nor  of  the  chair 
that  he  otTered  her.  She  sate  down  on  a  little  sofa  in  one  of  the 
windows,  and  called  Molly  to  her. 

"Look  at  my  purchases,"  said  she.  "This  green  ribhon  was 
fourteen-pence  a  yard,  this  silk  three  shillings,"  and  so  she  went  on, 
forcing  herself  to  speak  about  these  trifles  as  if  they  were  all  the 
world  to  her,  and  she  had  no  attention  to  throw  away  on  her  mother 
and  her  mother's  visitor. 

Mr.  Preston  took  his  cue  from  her.  He,  too,  talked  of  the  news 
of  the  day,  the  local  gossip — but  Molly,  who  glanced  up  at  him  from 
time  to  time,  was  almost  alarmed  by  the  bad  expression  of  suppressed 
auger,  nearly  amounting  to  vindictiveness,  which  entirely  marred  his 
handsome  looks.  She  did  not  wish  to  look  again ;  and  tried  rather 
to  back  up  Cynthia's  efforts  at  maintaining  a  separate  conversation. 
Yet  she  could  not  help  overhearing  Mrs.  Gibson's  strain  after  increased 
civility,  as  if  to  make  up  for  Cynthia's  rudeness,  and,  if  possible,  to 
deprecate  his  anger.  She  talked  perpetually,  as  though  her  object 
were  to  detain  him ;  whereas,  previous  to  Cynthia's  return,  she  had 
allowed  frequent  pauses  in  the  conversation,  as  though  to  give  him 
the  opportunity  to  take  his  leave. 

In  the  course  of  the  conversation  between  them  the  Hamleys 
came  up.  Mrs.  Gibson  was  never  unwilling  to  dwell  upon  Molly's 
intimacy  with  this  county  family ;  and  when  the  latter  caught  the 
sound  of  her  own  name,  her  stepmother  was  saying, — 

"Poor  Mrs.  Hamley  could  hardly  do  without  Molly;  she  quite 
looked  upon  her  as  a  daughter,  especially  towards  the  last,  when,  I 
am  afraid,  she  had  a  good  deal  of  anxiety.  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley — 
I  daresay  you  have  heard — he  did  not  do  so  well  at  college,  and  they 
had  expected  so  much — parents  will,  you  know ;  but  what  did  it 
signify  ?  for  he  had  not  to  earn  his  living  !  I  call  it  a  very  foolish 
kind  of  ambition  when  a  young  man  has  not  to  go  into  a  profession." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  the  squire  must  be  satisfied  now.  I  saw  this- 
morning's  Times,  with  the  Cambridge  examination  lists  in  it.  Isn't 
the  second  son  called  after  his  father,  Pioger  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Molly,  starting  up,  and  coming  nearer. 


230  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

"  He's  senior  wrangler,  that's  all,"  said  Mr.  Preston,  almost  as 
though  he  were  vexed  with  himself  for  having  anything  to  say  that 
could  give  her  pleasure.     Molly  went  back  to  her  seat  by  Cynthia. 

"Poor  Mrs.  Hamley,"  said  she,  very  softly,  as  if  to  herself. 
Cynthia  took  her  hand,  in  sympathy  with  Molly's  sad  and  tender 
look,  rather  than  because  she  understood  all  that  was  passing  in  her 
mind,  nor  did  she  quite  understand  it  herself.  A  death  that  had 
come  out  of  time  ;  a  wonder  whether  the  dead  knew  what  passed 
upon  the  earth  they  had  left — the  brilliant  Osborne's  failure,  Pioger's 
success  ;  the  vanity  of  human  wishes, — all  these  thoughts,  and  what 
they  suggested,  were  inextricably  mingled  up  in  her  mind.  She 
came  to  herself  in  a  few  minutes.  Mr.  Preston  was  saying  all  the 
unpleasant  things  he  could  think  of  about  the  Hamleys  in  a  tone  of 
false  sjTupathy. 

"  The  poor  old  squire — not  the  wisest  of  men — has  woefully  mis- 
managed his  estate.  And  Osborne  Hamley  is  too  fine  a  gentleman 
to  understand  the  means  by  which  to  improve  the  value  of  the  land 
— even  if  he  had  the  capital.  A  man  who  had  practical  knowledge 
of  agriculture,  and  some  thousands  of  ready  money,  might  bring  the 
rental  up  to  eight  thousand  or  so.  Of  course,  Osborne  will  try  and 
marry  some  one  with  money ;  the  family  is  old  and  well-established, 
and  he  mustn't  object  to  commercial  descent,  though  I  daresay  the 
squire  will  for  him  ;  but  then  the  young  fellow  himself  is  not  the 
man  for  the  work.  No  !  the  family's  going  down  fast ;  and  it's  a 
pity  when  these  old  Saxon  houses  vanish  ofi'  the  land ;  but  it  is 
'  kismet '  with  the  Hamleys.  Even  the  senior  wrangler — if  it  is 
that  Roger  Hamley — he  will  have  spent  all  his  brains  in  one  efibrt. 
You  never  hear  of  a  senior  wrangler  being  worth  anything  afterwards. 
He'll  be  a  Fellow  of  his  college,  of  course — that  will  be  a  livelihood 
for  him  at  any  rate." 

"  I  believe  in  senior  wranglers,"  said  Cynthia,  her  clear  high 
voice  ringing  through  the  room.  "  And  from  all  I've  ever  heard  of 
Mr.  Roger  Hamley,  I  believe  he  will  keep  up  the  distinction  he  has 
earned.  And  I  don't  believe  that  the  house  of  Hamley  is  so  near 
extinction  in  wealth  and  fame,  and  good  name." 

"  They  are  fortunate  in  having  Miss  Kirkpatrick's  good  word," 
said  Mr.  Preston,  rising  to  take  his  leave. 

"Dear  Molly,"  said  Cynthia,  in  a  whisper,  "I  know  nothing 
about  your  friends  the  Hamleys,  except  that  they  are  your  fiiends, 
and  what  you  have  told  me  about  them.     But  I  won't  have  that  man 


MRS.  Gibson's  visitors.  231 

speaking  of  tliem  so — and  your  eyes  filling  with  tears  all  the  time. 
I'd  sooner  swear  to  their  having  all  the  talents  and  good  fortune 
under  the  sun." 

The  only  person  of  whom  Cynthia  appeared  to  be  wholesomely 
afraid  was  Mr.  Gibson.  When  he  was  present  she  v/as  more  careful 
in  speaking,  and  showed  more  deference  to  her  mother.  Her  evident 
respect  for  Mr.  Gibson,  and  desire  for  his  good  opinion,  made  her 
curb  herself  before  him ;  and  in  this  manner  she  earned  his  good 
favour  as  a  lively,  sensible  girl,  with  just  so  much  knowledge  of  the 
world  as  made  her  a  very  desirable  companion  to  Molly.  Indeed, 
she  made  something  of  the  same  kind  of  impression  on  all  men. 
They  were  first  struck  with  her  personal  appearance  ;  and  then  with 
her  pretty  deprecating  manner,  which  appealed  to  them  much  as  if 
she  had  said,  "  You  are  wise,  and  I  am  foolish — have  mercy  on  my 
folly."  It  was  a  way  she  had;  it  meant  nothing  really;  and  she 
was  hardly  conscious  of  it  herself;  but  it  was  veiy  captivating  all 
the  same.  Even  old  "Williams,  the  gardener,  felt  it ;  he  said  to  his 
confidante,  Molly — 

"  Eh,  miss,  but  that  be  a  rare  young  lady  !  She  do  have  such 
pretty  coaxing  ways.  I  be  to  teach  her  to  bud  roses  come  the  season 
— and  I'll  warrant  ye  she'll  learn  sharp  enough,  for  all  she  says  she 
bees  so  stupid." 

If  Molly  had  not  had  the  sweetest  disposition  in  the  world  she  might 
have  become  jealous  of  all  the  allegiance  laid  at  Cynthia's  feet ;  but 
she  never  thought  of  comparing  the  amount  of  admiration  and  love 
which  they  each  received.  Yet  once  she  did  feel  a  little  as  if  Cynthia 
were  poaching  on  her  manor.  The  invitation  to  the  quiet  dinner  had 
been  sent  to  Osborne  Hamley,  and  declined  by  him.  But  he  thought 
it  right  to  call  soon  afterwards.  It  was  the  first  time  Molly  had  seen 
any  of  the  family  since  she  left  the  Hall,  since  Mrs.  Hamley's  death  ; 
and  there  was  so  much  that  she  wanted  to  ask.  She  tried  to  wait 
patiently  till  Mrs.  Gibson  had  exhausted  the  first  gush  of  her  infinite 
nothings  ;  and  then  Molly  came  in  with  her  modest  questions.  How 
was  the  squire  '?  Had  he  returned  to  his  old  habits  ?  Had  his 
health  sufiered  ? — putting  each  inquiry  with  as  light  and  delicate  a 
touch  as  if  she  had  been  dressing  a  wound.  She  hesitated  a  little,  a 
yery  little,  before  speaking  of  Roger;  for  just  one  moment  the 
thought  flitted  across  her  mind  that  Osborne  might  feel  the  contrast 
between  his  own  and  his  brother's  college  career  too  painfully  to 
like  to  have  it  referred  to  ;  but  then  she  remembered  the  generous 


232  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

brotherly  love  that  had  always  existed  between  the  two,  and  had  just 
entered  upon  the  subject,  when  Cynthia  in  obedience  to  her  mother's 
summons,  came  into  the  room,  and  took  up  her  work.  No  one 
coukl  have  been  quieter — she  hardly  uttered  a  word  ;  but  Osborne 
seemed  to  fall  under  her  power  at  once.  He  no  longer  gave  his 
undivided  attention  to  Molly.  He  cut  short  his  answers  to  her 
questions  ;  and  by-and-by,  without  Molly's  rightly  understanding  how 
it  was,  he  had  turned  towards  Cynthia,  and  was  addressing  himself 
to  her.  Molly  saw  the  look  of  content  on  Mrs.  Gibson's  face ; 
perhaps  it  was  her  own  mortification  at  not  having  heard  all  she 
wished  to  know  about  Roger,  that  gave  her  a  keener  insight  than 
usual,  but  certain  it  is  that  all  at  once  she  perceived  that  Mrs.  Gibson 
would  not  dislike  a  marriage  between  Osborne  and  Cynthia,  and 
considered  the  present  occasion  as  an  auspicious  beginning.  Re- 
membering the  secret  which  she  had  been  let  into  so  unwillingly, 
Molly  watched  his  behaviour,  almost  as  if  she  had  been  retained  in 
the  interest  of  the  absent  wife  ;  but,  after  all,  thinking  as  much  of 
the  possibility  of  his  attracting  Cynthia  as  of  the  unknown  and  myste- 
rious Mrs.  Osborne  Hamlcy.  His  manner  was  expressive  of  great 
interest  and  of  strong  prepossession  in  favour  of  the  beautiful  girl  to 
whom  he  was  talking.  He  was  in  deep  mourning,  which  showed  off 
his  slight  figure  aud  delicate  refined  face.  But  there  was  nothing 
of  flirting,  as  far  as  Molly  ixnderstood  the  meaning  of  the  word,  in 
either  looks  or  words,  Cynthia,  too,  was  extremely  quiet ;  she  was 
always  much  quieter  with  men  than  with  women ;  it  was  part  of  the 
charm  of  her  soft  allurement  that  she  was  so  passive.  They  were 
talking  of  France.  Mrs.  Gibson  herself  had  passed  two  or  three 
years  of  her  girlhood  there  ;  and  Cynthia's  late  return  from  Boulogne 
made  it  a  very  natural  subject  of  conversation.  But  Molly  was 
thrown  out  of  it ;  and  with  her  heart  still  unsatisfied  as  to  the  details 
of  Roger's  success,  she  had  to  stand  up  at  last,  and  receive  Osborne's 
good-by,  scarcely  longer  or  more  intimate  than  his  farewell  to 
Cynthia.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Mrs.  Gibson  began  in  his 
praise. 

"  Well,  really,  I  begin  to  have  some  faith  in  long  descent.  What 
a  gentleman  he  is  !  How  agreeable  and  polite  !  So  difi"erent  from 
that  forward  Mr.  Preston,"  she  continued,  looking  a  little  anxious  at 
Cynthia.  Cynthia,  quite  aware  that  her  reply  was  being  watched 
for,  said,  coolly, — 

"  Mr.  Preston  doesn't   improve  on  acquaintance.     There  was  a 


MRS.   GIBSON'S  VISITORS.  233 

time,    mamma,   ■\\-licn    I  think  both   you    aud   I  thought  him  very 
agreeable." 

"  I  don't  remember.  You've  a  clearer  memory  than  I  have. 
But  we  were  talking  of  this  delightful  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley.  Why, 
Molly,  you  were  always  talking  of  his  brother — it  was  Roger  this, 
and  Roger  that — I  can't  think  how  it  was  you  so  seldom  mentioned 
this  young  man." 

"  I  didn't  know  I  had  mentioned  Mr,  Roger  Hamley  so  often," 
said  Molly,  blushing  a  little.  "  But  I  saw  much  more  of  him — he 
was  more  at  home." 

"  Well,  well !  It's  all  right,  my  dear.  I  daresay  he  suits  you 
best.  But  really,  when  I  saw  Osborne  Hamley  close  to  my  Cynthia, 
I  couldn't  help  thinking — but  perhaps  I'd  better  not  tell  you  what  I 
was  thinking  of.  Only  they  are  each  of  them  so  much  above  the 
average  in  appearance;  and,  of  course,  that  suggests  things." 

"  I  pei-fectly  understand  what  j-ou  are  thinking  of,  mamma,"  said 
Cynthia,  with  the  greatest  composure  ;  "  and  so  does  Molly,  I  have 
no  doubt." 

"  Well !  there's  no  harm  in  it,  I'm  sure.  Did  you  hear  him  say 
that,  though  he  did  not  like  to  leave  his  father  alone  just  at  present, 
yet  that  when  his  brother  Roger  came  back  from  Cambridge,  he 
should  feel  more  at  liberty  !  It  was  quite  as  much  as  to  say,  '  If 
you  will  ask  me  to  dinner  then,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come.'  And 
chickens  will  be  so  much  cheaper,  and  cook  has  such  a  nice  way  of 
boning  them,  and  doing  them  up  with  forcemeat.  Everything  seems 
to  be  falling  out  so  fortunately.  And  Molly,  my  dear,  you  know  I 
won't  forget  you.  By-and-by,  when  Roger  Hamley  has  taken  his 
turn  at  stopping  at  home  with  his  father,  we  will  ask  him  to  one  of 
our  little  quiet  dinners," 

Molly  was  very  slow  at  taking  this  in  ;  but  in  about  a  minute  the 
sense  of  it  had  reached  her  brain,  and  she  went  all  over  veiy  red 
and  hot ;  especially  as  she  saw  that  Cynthia  was  watching  the  light 
come  into  her  mind  with  great  amusement, 

"  I'm  afraid  Molly  isn't  properly  grateful,  mamma.  If  I  were 
you,  I  wouldn't  exert  myself  to  give  a  dinner-party  on  her  account. 
Bestow  all  your  kindness  upon  me." 

Molly  was  often  puzzled  by  Cynthia's  speeches  to  her  mother ; 
and  this  was  one  of  these  occasions.  But  she  was  more  anxious 
to  say  something  for  herself;  she  was  so  much  annoyed  at  the 
implication  in  Mrs.  Gibson's  last  words. 


234  AVIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  iJr.  Koger  Ilixmley  has  been  veiy  good  to  me  ;  lie  Vv'as  a  great 
deal  at  home  -when  I  was  there,  and  Mr,  Osborue  Hamley  was  very 
little  there  :  that  was  the  reason  I  spoke  so  much  more  of  one  than 
the  other.  If  I  had — if  he  had," — losing  her  coherence  in  the 
difficulty  of  finding  words, — "  I  don't  think  I  should.  Oh,  Cj-nthia, 
instead  of  laughing  at  me,  I  think  you  might  help  me  to  explain 
myself!" 

Instead,  Cynthia  gave  a  diversion  to  the  conversation. 

"  Mamma's  paragon  gives  me  an  idea  of  weakness.  I  can't 
quite  make  out  whether  it  is  in  body  or  mind.  Which  is  it, 
Molly?" 

"  He  is  not  strong,  I  know;  but  he  is  very  accomplished  and 
clever.  Every  one  says  that, — even  papa,  who  doesn't  generally 
praise  young  men.  That  made  the  puzzle  the  greater  when  he  did 
60  badly  at  college." 

"  Then  it's  his  character  that  is  weak.  I'm  sure  there's  weakness 
somewhere ;  but  he's  very  agreeable.  It  must  have  been  very 
pleasant,  staying  at  the  Hall." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it's  all  over  now." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  wakening  up  from  counting 
the  stitches  in  her  pattern.  "  We  shall  have  the  young  men  coming 
to  dinner  pretty  often,  you'll  see.  Your  father  likes  them,  and  I 
shall  always  make  a  point  of  welcoming  his  friends.  They  can't  go 
on  mourning  for  a  mother  for  ever.  I  expect  we  shall  see  a  great 
deal  of  them ;  and  that  the  two  families  will  become  veiy  intimate. 
After  all,  these  good  HoUingford  people  are  terribly  behindhand,  and 
I  should  sa}',  rather  commonplace." 


(     235     ) 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   HiVLF-SISTERS. 

It  appeared  as  if  Mrs.  Gibson's  predictions  were  likely  to  be  verified; 
for  Osborne  Hamley  found  liis  way  to  her  drawing-room  pretty  fre- 
quently. To  be  sure,  sometimes  prophets  can  help  on  the  fulfilment 
of  their  own  prophecies  ;  and  Mrs.  Gibson  was  not  passive. 

Molly  was  altogether  puzzled  by  his  manners  and  ways.  He 
spoke  of  occasional  absences  from  the  Hall,  without  exactly  saying 
■where  he  had  been.  But  that  was  not  her  idea  of  the  conduct  of  a 
married  man  ;  who,  she  imagined,  ought  to  have  a  house  and  servants, 
and  pay  rent  and  taxes,  and  live  with  his  wife.  AVho  this  mysterious 
■wife  might  be  faded  into  insignificance  before  the  wonder  of  where 
she  was.  London,  Cambridge,  Dover,  nay,  even  France,  vrere 
mentioned  by  him  as  places  to  which  he  had  been  on  these  different 
little  journeys.  These  facts  came  out  quite  casually,  almost  as  if  he 
was  unaware  of  what  he  was  betraying ;  sometimes  he  dropped  out 
such  sentences  as  these  : — "  Ah,  that  would  be  the  day  I  was 
crossing  !  It  was  stormy  indeed !  Instead  of  our  being  only  two 
hours,  we  were  nearly  five."  Or,  "  I  met  Lord  HoUingford  at 
Dover  last  week,  and  he  said,"  &c.  "  The  cold  now  is  nothing  %o 
what  it  was  in  London  on  Thursday — the  thermometer  was  down  at 
15°."  Perhaps,  in  the  rapid  flow  of  conversation,  these  small  reve- 
lations were  noticed  by  no  one  but  Molly ;  whose  interest  and 
curiosity  were  always  hovering  over  the  secret  she  had  become  pos- 
sessed of,  in  spite  of  all  her  self-reproach  for  allowing  her  thoughts 
to  dwell  on  what  was  still  to  be  kept  as  a  mystery. 

It  was  also  evident  to  her  that  Osborne  was  not  too  happy  at 
home.  He  had  lost  the  slight  touch  of  cynicism  which  he  had 
-affected  when  he  was  expected  to  do  wonders  at  coUege ;  and  that 
was  one  good  result  of  his  failure.     If  he  did  not  give  himself  the 


236  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

trouble  of  appreciating  other  people,  and  their  performances,  at  any 
rate  his  conversation  was  not  so  amply  sprinkled  with  critical  pepper. 
He  was  more  absent,  not  so  agreeable,  Mrs.  Gibson  thought,  but 
did  not  say.  He  looked  ill  in  health  ;  but  that  might  be  the  conse- 
quence of  the  real  depression  of  spirits  which  Molly  occasionally 
saw  peeping  out  through  all  his  pleasant'  surface-talk.  Now  and 
then,  when  he  was  talking  directly  to  her,  he  referred  to  "  the  happy 
days  that  are  gone,"  or,  "  to  the  time  when  my  mother  was  alive  ;" 
and  then  his  voice  sank,  and  a  gloom  came  over  his  countenance,  and 
Molly  longed  to  express  her  own  deep  sympathy.  He  did  not  often 
mention  his  father ;  and  ]\Iolly  thought  she  could  read  in  his 
manner,  when  he  did,  that  something  of  the  painful  restraint  she  had 
noticed  when  she  was  last  at  the  Hall  still  existed  between  them. 
Nearly  all  that  she  knew  of  the  family  interior  she  had  heard  from 
Mrs.  Hamley,  and  she  was  uncertain  as  to  how  far  her  father  was 
acquainted  with  them  ;  so  she  did  not  like  to  question  him  too 
closely ;  nor  was  he  a  man  to  be  so  questioned  as  to  the  domestic 
affairs  of  his  patients.  Sometimes  she  wondered  if  it  was  a  dream — 
that  short  half-hour  in  the  library  at  Hamley  Hall — when  she  had 
learnt  a  fact  which  seemed  so  ill-important  to  Osborne,  yet  which 
made  so  little  diflereuce  in  his  way  of  life — either  in  speech  or 
action.  During  the  twelve  or  fourteen  hours  that  she  had  remained 
at  the  Hall  afterwards,  no  further  allusion  had  been  made  to  his 
marriage,  either  by  himself  or  by  Roger.  It  was,  indeed,  very  like 
a  dream.  Probably  Molly  would  have  been  rendered  much  more 
uncomfortable  in  the  possession  of  her  secret  if  Osborne  had  struck 
her  as  particularly  attentive  in  his  devotion  to  Cynthia.  She  evi- 
dently amused  and  attracted  him,  but  not  in  any  lively  or  passionate 
kind  of  manner.  He  admired  her  beauty,  and  seemed  to  feel  her 
charm ;  but  he  would  leave  her  side,  and  come  to  sit  near  Molly,  if 
anything  reminded  him  of  his  mother,  about  which  he  could  talk  to 
her,  and  to  her  alone.  Yet  he  came  so  often  to  the  Gibsons,  that 
Mrs.  Gibson  might  be  excused  for  the  fancy  she  had  taken  into  her 
head,  that  it  was  for  Cynthia's  sake.  He  liked  the  lounge,  the 
friendliness,  the  compauy^of  two  inteUigent  girls  of  beauty  and  manners 
above  the  average  ;  one  of  whom  stood  in  a  peculiar  relation  to  him, 
as  having  been  especially  beloved  by  the  mother  whose  memory  he 
cherished  so  fondly.  Knowing  himself  to  be  out  of  the  category 
of  bachelors,  he  was,  perhaps,  too  indifferent  as  to  other  people's 
ignorance,  and  its  possible  consequences. 


THE  HALF-SISTERS.  237 

Somehow,  Molly  did  not  like  to  Le  the  first  to  introduce  Roger's 
name  into  the  conversation,  so  she  lost  many  an  opportunity  of 
hearing  intelligence  about  him.  Osborne  was  often  so  languid  or  so 
absent  that  he  only  followed  the  lead  of  talk ;  and  as  an  awkward 
fellow,  who  had  paid  her  no  particular  attention,  and  as  a  second  son, 
Koger  was  not  pre-eminent  in  Mrs.  Gibson's  thoughts  ;  Cynthia  had 
never  seen  him,  and  the  freak  did  not  take  her  often  to  speak  about 
him.  He  had  not  come  home  since  he  had  obtained  his  high 
place  in  the  mathematical  lists :  that  Molly  knew  ;  and  she  knew, 
too,  that  he  was  working  hard  for  something — she  supposed  a 
fellowship — and  that  was  all.  Osborne's  tone  in  speaking  of  him 
was  always  the  same  :  eveiy  word,  eveiy  inflexion  of  the  voice 
breathed  out  affection  and  respect — nay,  even  admiration !  And 
this  from  the  nil  admirayi  brother,  who  seldom  carried  his  exertions 
so  far. 

"Ah,  Roger!"  he  said  one  day.  Molly  caught  the  name  in 
an  instant,  though  she  had  not  heard  what  had  gone  before.  "He 
is  a  fellow  in  a  thousand — in  a  thousand,  indeed !  I  don't  believe 
there  is  his  match  anywhere  for  goodness  and  real  solid  power 
combined." 

"  Molly,"  said  Cynthia,  after  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  had  gone, 
what  sort  of  a  man  is  this  Roger  Hamley  '?  One  can't  tell  how  much 
to  believe  of  his  brother's  praises ;  for  it  is  the  one  subject  on  which 
Osborne  Hamley  becomes  enthusiastic.  I've  noticed  it  once  or  twice 
before." 

While  Molly  hesitated  on  which  point  of  the  large  round  to  begin 
her  description,  Mrs.  Gibson  struck  in, — 

"  It  just  shows  what  a  sweet  disposition  Osborne  Hamley  is  of — 
that  he  should  praise  his  brother  as  he  does.  I  daresay  he  is  a 
senior  wrangler,  and  much  good  may  it  do  him  !  I  don't  deny  that  f 
but  as  for  conversation,  he's  as  heavv-  as  heavy  can  be.  A  gi-eat 
awkward  fellow  to  boot,  who  looks  as  if  he  did  not  know  two  and  two 
made  four,  for  all  he  is  such  a  mathematical  genius.  You  would 
hardly  believe  he  was  Osborne  Hamley's  brother  to  see  him  !  I 
should  not  think  he  has  a  profile  at  all." 

"What  do  you  think  of  him,  Molly?"  said  the  persevering 
Cynthia. 

"  I  like  him,"  said  Molly.  "  He  has  been  veiT  kind  to  me.  I 
know  he  isn't  handsome  like  Osborne." 

It  was  rather  difficult  to  say  all  this  quietly,  but  Molly  managed 


238  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

to  do  it,  quite  aware  that  Cynthia  would  not  rest  till  she  had  ex- 
tracted some  kind  of  an  opinion  out  of  her. 

"  I  suppose  he  will  come  home  at  Easter,"  said  Cynthia,  "  and 
then  I  shall  see  him  for  myself." 

"  It's  a  great  pity  that  their  being  in  mourning  will  prevent  theix* 
going  to  the  Easter  charity  ball,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  plaintively.  "  I 
shan't  like  to  take  you  two  girls,  if  you  are  not  to  have  any 
partners.  It  will  put  me  in  such  an  awkward  position.  I  wish  we 
could  join  on  to  the  Towers  party.  That  would  secure  you  partners,, 
for  they  always  bring  a  number  of  dancing  men,  who  might  dance 
Avith  you  after  they  had  done  their  duty  by  the  ladies  of  the  house. 
But  really  eveiything  is  so  changed  since  dear  Lady  Cumnor  has- 
been  an  invalid  that,  perhaps,  they  won't  go  at  all." 

This  Easter  ball  was  a  great  subject  of  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Gibson.  She  sometimes  spoke  of  it  as  her  first  appearance  in  society 
as  a  bride,  though  she  had  been  visiting  once  or  twice  a  week  all 
winter  long.  Then  she  shifted  her  ground,  and  said  she  felt  so 
much  interest  in  it,  because  she  would  then  have  the  responsibiUty 
of  introducing  both  her  own  and  Mr.  Gibson's  daughter  to  public 
notice,  though  the  fact  was  that  pretty  nearly  every  one  who  was 
going  to  this  ball  had  seen  the  two  young  ladies — though  not  their 
ball  dresses — before.  But,  aping  the  manners  of  the  aristocracy  as 
flu-  as  she  knew  them,  she  intended  to  "  bring  out  "  Molly  and  Cynthia 
on  this  occasion,  which  she  regarded  in  something  of  the  light  of  a 
presentation  at  Court.  "  They  are  not  out  yet,"  was  her  favourite 
excuse  when  cither  of  them  was  invited  to  any  house  to  which  she 
did  not  wish  them  to  go,  or  they  were  invited  without  her.  She  even 
made  a  difficulty  about  their  "  not  being  out  "  when  Miss  Browning — 
that  old  friend  of  the  Gibson's  family — came  in  one  morning  to  ask 
the  two  girls  to  come  to  a  friendly  tea  and  a  round  game  afterwards ; 
this  mild  piece  of  gaiety  being  designed  as  an  attention  to  three  of 
Mrs.  Goodenough's  grandchildren — two  young  ladies  and  their  school- 
boy brother — who  were  staying  on  a  visit  to  their  grandmamma. 

"  You  are  very  kind.  Miss  Browning,  but,  you  see,  I  hardly  like  to 
let  them  go — they  are  not  out,  you  know,  till  after  the  Easter  ball." 

"  Till  when  we  are  invisible,"  said  Cynthia,  always  ready  with  her 
mockery  to  exaggerate  any  pretension  of  her  mother's.  "  We  are  so 
high  in  rank  that  our  sovereign  must  give  us  her  sanction  before  we 
can  play  a  round  game  at  your  house."' 

Cynthia  enjoyed  the  idea  of  her  own  full-grown  size  and  stately 


THE   HALF-SISTERS.  239 

gait,   as  contrasted  with  that  of  a  meek,  half-fledged  girl  iu  the 
nursery  ;  but  Miss  Browning  was  half  puzzled  and  half  affronted. 

"  I  don't  understand  it  at  all.  In  my  days  girls  went  wherever 
it  j)leased  people  to  ask  them,  without  this  farce  of  bursting  out  in  all 
their  new  fine  clothes  at  some  public  place.  I  don't  mean  but  what 
the  gentry  took  their  daughters  to  York,  or  Matlock,  or  Bath  to  give 
them  a  taste  of  gay  society  when  they  were  growing  up  ;  and  the 
quality  went  up  to  London,  and  their  young  ladies  were  presented  to 
Queen  Charlotte,  and  went  to  a  birthday  ball,  perhaps.  But  for  us 
little  Hollingford  people,  why  we  knew  every  child  amongst  us  from 
the  day  of  its  birth  ;  and  many  a  girl  of  twelve  or  fourteen  have  I 
seen  go  out  to  a  card-party,  and  sit  quiet  at  her  work,  and  know  how 
to  behave  as  well  as  any  lady  there.  There  was  no  talk  of  '  coming 
out '  in  those  days  for  any  one  under  the  daughter  of  a  squire." 

"  After  Easter,  Molly  and  I  shall  know  how  to  behave  at  a  card- 
party,  but  not  before,"  said  Cynthia,  demurely. 

"  You're  always  fond  of  your  quips  and  your  cranks,  my  dear," 
said  Miss  Browning,  "  and  I  wouldn't  quite  answer  for  your  behaviour  : 
you  sometimes  let  your  spirits  carry  you  away.  But  I'm  quite  sure 
Molly  will  be  a  little  lady  as  she  always  is,  and  always  was,  and  I 
have  known  her  from  a  babe." 

Mrs.  Gibson  took  up  arms  on  behalf  of  her  own  daughter,  or, 
rather,  she  took  up  arms  against  Molly's  praises. 

"  I  don't  think  you  would  have  called  Molly  a  lady  the  other  day. 
Miss  Browning,  if  you  had  found  her  where  I  did :  sitting  up  in  a 
cherry-tree,  six  feet  from  the  ground  at  least,  I  do  assure  you." 

"  Oh  !  but  that  wasn't  pretty,"  said  Miss  Browning,  shaking  her 
head  at  Molly.     "  I  thought  you'd  left  off  those  tom-boy  ways." 

"  She  wants  the  refinement  which  good  society  gives  in  several 
waj'S,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  returning  to  the  attack  on  poor  Molfy. 
"  She's  very  apt  to  come  upstairs  two  steps  at  a  time." 

"  Only  two,  Molly  !  "  said  Cynthia.  "  Why,  to-day  I  found  I 
could  manage  four  of  these  broad  shallow  steps." 

"  My  dear  child,  what  are  you  saying  ?  " 

"  Only  confessing  that  I,  like  Molly,  want  the  refinements  which 
good  society  gives ;  therefore,  please  do  let  us  go  to  Miss  Brownings* 
this  evening.  I  will  pledge  myself  for  Molly  that  she  shan't  sit  in  a 
cherry-tree ;  and  Molly  shall  see  that  I  don't  go  upstairs  in  an 
unladylike  way.  I  will  go  upstau's  as  meekly  as  if  I  were  a  come- 
out  young  lady,  and  had  been  to  the  Easter  ball." 


240  WIVES  AXD   DAUGHTERS. 

So  it  was  agreed  that  they  shoultl  go.  If  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley 
had  been  named  as  one  of  the  probable  visitors,  there  would  have 
been  none  of  this  difficulty  about  the  afiair. 

But  though  he  was  not  there  his  brother  Roger  was.  Molly  saw 
him  in  a  minute  when  she  entered  the  little  drawing-room  ;  but 
Cynthia  did  not. 

"  And  see,  my  dears,"  said  Miss  Phcebe  Browning,  turning  them 
round  to  the  side  where  Roger  stood  waiting  for  his  turn  of  speaking 
to  Molly,  "we've  got  a  gentleman  for  you  after  all!  Wasn't  it 
fortunate  ? — just  as  sister  said  that  you  might  find  it  dull— you, 
Cynthia,  she  meant,  because  you  know  you  come  from  France  ;  and 
then,  just  as  if  he  had  been  sent  from  heaven,  Mr.  Roger  came  in  to 
call ;  and  I  won't  say  we  laid  violent  hands  on  him,  because  he  was 
too  good  for  that ;  but  really  we  should  have  been  near  it,  if  he  had 
stayed  of  his  own  accord." 

The  moment  Roger  had  done  his  cordial  greeting  to  Molly,  he 
asked  her  to  introduce  him  to  Cynthia. 

"  I  want  to  know  her — your  new  sister,"  he  added,  with  the 
kind  smile  Molly  remembered  so  well  since  the  very  first  day  she  had 
seen  it  directed  towards  her,  as  she  sate  crying  under  the  weeping 
ash.  Cynthia  was  standing  a  little  behind  Molly  when  Roger  asked 
for  this  introduction.  She  was  generally  dressed  with  careless  grace. 
Molly  who  was  delicate  neatness  itself,  used  sometimes  to  wonder  how 
Cynthia's  tumbled  gowns,  tossed  away  so  untidily,  had  the  art  of 
looking  so  well,  and  falling  in  such  graceful  folds.  For  instance, 
the  pale  lilac  muslin  gown  she  wore  this  evening  had  been  worn  many 
times  before,  and  had  looked  unfit  to  wear  again  till  Cynthia  put  it 
on.  Then  the  limpness  became  softness,  and  the  very  creases  took 
the  lines  of  beauty.  Molly,  in  a  daintily  clean  pink  muslin,  did  not 
look  half  so  elegantly  dressed  as  Cynthia.  The  grave  eyes  that  the 
latter  raised  when  she  had  to  be  presented  to  Roger  had  a  sort  of 
ehild-like  innocence  and  wonder  about  them,  w'hich  did  not  quite 
belong  to  Cynthia's  character.  She  put  on  her  armour  of  magic  that 
evening — involuntarily  as  she  always  did  ;  but,  on  the  other  side,  she 
could  not  help  trying  her  power  on  strangers.  Molly  had  always  felt 
that  she  should  have  a  right  to  a  good  long  talk  with  Roger  when  she 
next  saw  him  ;  and  that  he  would  tell  her,  or  she  should  gather  from 
him  all  the  details  she  so  longed  to  hear  about  the  Squire — about  the 
Hall — about  Osborne — about  himself.  He  was  just  as  cordial  and 
friendly  as  ever  with  her.     If  Cynthia  had  not  been  there,  all  would 


H 


RonER    IS    INTHODOCE'n    ANT)    ENSI^AVED. 


THE   HALF-SISTERS.  241 

have  gone  on  as  she  had  anticipated ;  but  of  all  the  victims  to 
Cynthia's  charms  he  fell  most  prone  and  abject.  Molly  saw  it  all,  as 
she  was  sitting  next  to  Miss  Phoebe  at  the  tea-table,  acting  right- 
hand,  and  passing  cake,  cream,  sugar,  with  such  busy  assiduity  that 
every  one  besides  herself  thought  that  her  mind,  as  well  as  her 
hands,  was  fully  occupied.  She  tried  to  talk  to  the  two  shy  girls,  as 
in  virtue  of  her  two  years'  seniority  she  thought  herself  bound  to  do  ; 
and  the  consequence  was,  she  went  upstairs  with  the  twain  clinging 
to  her  arms,  and  willing  to  swear  an  eternal  friendship.  Nothing 
would  satisfy  them  but  that  she  must  sit  between  them  at  vingt-un  ; 
and  they  were  so  desirous  of  her  advice  in  the  important  point  of 
fixing  the  price  of  the  counters  that  she  could  not  ever  have  joined 
in  the  animated  conversation  going  on  between  Roger  and  Cynthia. 
Or,  rather,  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  Roger  was  talking  in 
a  most  animated  manner  to  Cynthia,  whose  sweet  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  his  face  with  a  look  of  great  interest  in  all  he  was  saying, 
while  it  was  only  now  and  then  she  made  her  low  replies.  Molly 
caught  a  few  words  occasionally  in  intervals  of  business. 

"At  my  uncle's,  we  always  give  a  silver  threepence  for  three 
dozen.  You  know  what  a  silver  threepence  is,  don't  you,  dear  Miss 
Gibson  ?  " 

"  The  three  classes  are  published  in  the  Senate  House  at  nine 
o'clock  on  the  Friday  morning,  and  you  can't  imagine — " 

"  I  think  it  will  be  thought  rather  shabby  to  play  at  anything 
less  than  sixpence.  That  gentleman"  (this  in  a  whisper)  "is  at 
Cambridge,  and  you  know  they  always  play  very  high  there,  and 
sometimes  ruin  themselves,  don't  they,  dear  Miss  Gibson  ?  " 

"  Oh,  on  this  occasion  the  Master  of  Arts  who  precedes  the  can- 
didates for  honours  when  they  go  into  the  Senate  House  is  called  the 
Father  of  the  College  to  which  he  belongs.  I  think  I  mentioned 
that  before,  didn't  I  ?  " 

So  Cynthia  was  hearing  all  about  Cambridge,  and  the  veiy 
examination  about  which  Molly  had  felt  such  keen  interest,  without 
having  ever  been  able  to  have  her  questions  answered  by  a  competent 
person ;  and  Roger,  to  whom  she  had  always  looked  as  the  final  and 
most  satisfactory  answerer,  was  telling  the  whole  of  what  she  wanted 
to  know,  and  she  could  not  listen.  It  took  all  her  patience  to  make 
up  little  packets  of  counters,  and  settle,  as  the  arbiter  of  the  game, 
whether  it  would  be  better  for  the  round  or  the  oblong  counters  to  be 
reckoned  as  six.    And  when  all  was  done,  and  every  one  sate  in  their 

Vol.  I.  16 


242  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

places  rouud  the  table,  Roger  and  Cynthia  liad  to  be  called  twice 
before  they  came.  They  stood  up,  it  is  true,  at  the  first  sound  of 
their  names  ;  but  they  did  not  move — Roger  went  on  talking, 
Cynthia  listening  till  the  second  call ;  when  they  hurried  to  the 
table  and  tried  to  appear,  all  on  a  sudden,  quite  interested  in  the 
great  questions  of  the  game — namely,  the  price  of  three  dozen 
counters,  and  whether,  all  things  considered,  it  would  be  better  to 
call  the  round  counters  or  the  oblong  half-a-dozen  each.  Miss 
Browning,  drumming  the  pack  of  cards  on  the  table,  and  quite  ready 
to  begin  dealing,  decided  the  matter  by  saying,  "  Rounds  are  sixes, 
and  three  dozen  counters  cost  sixpence.  Pay  up,  if  you  please,  and 
let  us  begin  at  once."  Cynthia  sate  between  Roger  and  William 
Osborne,  the  young  schoolboy,  who  bitterly  resented  on  this  occasion 
his  sister's  habit  of  calling  him  "  Willie,"  as  he  thought  it  M'as  this 
boyish  sobriquet  which  prevented  Cynthia  from  attending  as  much 
to  him  as  to  Mr.  Roger  Hamley  ;  he  also  was  charmed  by  the 
charmer,  who  found  leisure  to  give  him  one  or  two  of  her  sweet 
smiles.  On  his  return  home  to  his  grandmamma's,  he  gave  out  one 
or  two  very  decided  and  rather  original  opinions,  quite  opposed — as 
was  natural — to  his  sister's.     One  was — • 

"  That,  after  all,  a  senior  wrangler  was  no  great  shakes.  Any 
man  might  be  one  if  he  liked,  but  there  were  a  lot  of  fellows  that  he 
knew  who  would  be  very  sorry  to  go  in  for  anything  so  slow." 

Molly  thought  the  game  never  would  end.  She  had  no  par- 
ticular turn  for  gambling  in  her ;  and  whatever  her  card  might  be, 
she  regularly  put  on  two  counters,  indifferent  as  to  whether  she  won 
or  lost.  Cj-nthia,  on  the  contrary,  staked  high,  and  was  at  one  time 
very  rich,  but  ended  by  being  in  debt  to  Molly  something  like  six 
shillings.  She  had  foifgotten  her  purse,  she  said,  and  was  obliged  to 
borrow  from  the  more  provident  3Iolly,  who  was  aware  that  the  round 
game  of  which  Miss  Browning  had  spoken  to  her  was  likely  to 
require  money.  If  it  was  not  a  very  merry  affair  for  all  the 
individuals  concerned,  it  was  a  very  noisy  one  on  the  whole.  Molly 
thought  it  was  going  to  last  till  midnight ;  but  punctually,  as  the 
clock  struck  nine,  the  little  maid-servant  staggered  in  under  the 
weight  of  a  tray  loaded  with  sandwiches,  cakes,  and  jelly.  This 
brought  on  a  general  move  ;  and  Roger,  vdio  appeared  to  have  been 
on  the  watch  for  something  of  the  kind,  came  and  took  a  chair  by 
Molly. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again — it  seems  such  a  long  time  since 


THE   HALF-SISTERS.  243 

Christmas,"  said  lio,  dropping  his  voice,  and  not  alluding  more 
exactly  to  the  day  when  she  had  left  the  Hall. 

"  It  is  a  long  time,"  she  replied  ;  "  we  are  close  to  Easter  now. 
I  have  so  wanted  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  was  to  hear  about  your 
honours  at  Cambridge.  I  once  thought  of  sending  you  a  message 
through  your  brother,  but  then  I  thought  it  might  be  making  too 
much  fuss,  because  I  know  nothing  of  mathematics,  or  of  the  value 
of  a  senior  wranglership  ;  and  you  were  sure  to  have  so  many  con- 
gratulations fi'om  people  who  did  know." 

"  I  missed  yours  though,  Molly,"  said  he,  kindly.  *'  But  I  felt 
sure  5'ou  were  glad  for  me." 

"  Glad  and  proud  too,"  said  she.  "  I  should  so  like  to  hear 
something  more  about  it.     I  heard  you  telling  Cynthia " 

"  Yes.  What  a  charming  person  she  is !  I  should  think  yon 
must  be  happier  than  we  expected  long  ago." 

"  But  tell  me  something  about  the  senior  wranglership,  please," 
said  Molly. 

"  It's  a  long  story,  and  I  ought  to  be  helping  the  Miss  Brownings 
to  hand  sandwiches — besides,  you  wouldn't  find  it  very  interesting, 
it's  so  full  of  technical  details." 

"  Cynthia  looked  very  much  interested,"  said  Molly. 

"  Well !  then  I  refer  you  to  her,  for  I  must  go  now.  I  can't  for 
shame  go  on  sitting  here,  and  letting  those  good  ladies  have  all  the 
trouble.  But  I  shall  come  and  call  on  Mrs.  Gibson  soon.  Are  you 
walking  home  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  replied  Molly,  eagerly  foreseeing  what  was  to 

come. 

"  Then  I  shall  walk  home  with  you.  I  left  my  horse  at  the 
*  Angel,'  and  that's  half-way.  I  suppose  old  Betty  will  allow  me  to 
accompany  you  and  your  sister  ?  You  used  to  describe  her  as  so^pe- 
thing  of  a  di-agon." 

"  Betty  has  left  us,"  said  Molly,  sadly.  "  She's  gone  to  live  at  a 
place  at  Ashcombe." 

He  made  a  face  of  dismay,  and  then  went  off  to  his  duties.  The 
short  conversation  had  been  very  pleasant,  and  his  manner  had  had 
just  the  brotherly  kindness  of  old  times  ;  but  it  was  not  quite  the 
manner  he  had  to  Cynthia  ;  and  Molly  half  thought  she  would  have 
prefen-ed  the  latter.  He  was  now  hovering  about  Cynthia,  who  had 
declined  the  offer  of  refreshments  from  WiUie  Osborne.  Roger  was 
tempting  her,  and  with  playful  entreaties  urging  her  to  take  some- 

16—2 


244  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

tiling  from  him.  Every  "word  they  said  could  be  heard  by  the  whole 
room ;  yet  every  word  was  said,  on  Roger's  part  at  least,  as  if  he 
could  not  have  spoken  it  in  that  peculiar  manner  to  any  one  else. 
At  length,  and  rather  more  because  she  was  weary  of  being  entreated, 
than  because  it  was  his  wish,  C}Tithia  took  a  macaroon,  and  Roger 
seemed  as  happy  as  though  she  had  crowned  him  with  flowers.  The 
whole  affair  was  as  trifling  and  commonplace  as  could  bo  in  itself ; 
hardly  worth  noticing ;  and  yet  Molly  did  notice  it,  and  felt  uneasy  ; 
she  could  not  tell  why.  As  it  turned  out,  it  was  a  rainy  night,  and 
Mrs.  Gibson  sent  a  fly  for  the  two  girls  instead  of  old  Betty's  sub- 
stitute. Both  Cynthia  and  Molly  thought  of  the  possibility  of  their 
taking  the  two  Osborne  girls  back  to  their  grandmother's,  and  so 
saving  them  a  wet  walk  ;  but  Cynthia  got  the  start  in  speaking  about 
it ;  and  the  thanks  and  the  implied  praise  for  thoughtfulness  were  hers. 

When  they  got  home  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gibson  were  sitting  in  the 
drawing-room,  quite  ready  to  be  amused  by  any  details  of  the  evening. 

Cynthia  began, — 

"  Oh  !  it  wasn't  veiy  entertaining.  One  didn't  expect  that,"  and 
she  yawned  wearily. 

"  Who  were  there  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Gibson.  "  Quite  a  young  party 
— wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  They'd  only  asked  Lizzie  and  Fanny  Osborne,  and  their 
brother  ;  but  Mr.  Roger  Hamley  had  ridden  over  and  called  on  Miss 
Brownings,  and  they  had  kept  him  to  tea.     No  one  else." 

"  Roger  Hamley  there  !  "  said  Mr.  Gibson.  "  He's  come  home 
then.     I  must  make  time  to  ride  over  and  see  him." 

"You'd  much  better  ask  him  here,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson.  "  Sup- 
pose you  invite  him  and  his  brother  to  dine  here  on  Friday,  my  dear. 
It  would  be  a  very  pretty  attention,  I  think." 

"  My  dear  !  these  young  Cambridge  men  have  a  very  good  taste 
in  wine,  and  don't  spare  it.  My  cellar  won't  stand  many  of  theii' 
attacks." 

"  I  didn't  think  you  were  so  inhospitable,  Mr.  Gibson." 

"  I'm  not  inhospitable,  I'm  sure.  If  you'll  put  *  bitter  beer  '  in 
the  corner  of  your  notes  of  invitation,  just  as  the  smart  people  put 
'  quadrilles '  as  a  sign  of  the  entertainment  ofl'ered,  we'll  have 
Osborne  and  Roger  to  dinner  any  day  you  like.  And  what  did  you 
think  of  my  favourite,  Cynthia  ?  You  hadn't  seen  him  before,  I 
think?" 

"Oh!    he's  nothing  like  so  handsome  as  his  brother;   nor  so 


THE  HALF-SISTERS.  245 

polished ;  nor  so  easy  to  talk  to.  He  entertained  me  for  more  than 
an  hour  with  a  long  account  of  some  examination  or  other ;  but 
there's  something  one  likes  about  him." 

"  "Well — and  Molly,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  who  piqued  herself  on 
being  an  impartial  stepmother,  and  who  always  tried  hard  to  make 
Molly  talk  as  much  as  Cynthia, — "  what  sort  of  an  evening  have 
you  had  ?  " 

"  Veiy  pleasant,  thank  you."  Her  heart  a  little  belied  her  as 
she  said  this.  She  had  not  cared  for  the  round  game  ;  and  she 
would  have  cared  for  Eoger's  conversation.  She  had  had  what  she 
was  indifferent  to,  and  not  had  what  she  would  have  liked. 

"We've  had  our  unexpected  visitor,  too,"  said  Mr.  Gibson. 
"  Just  after  dinner  who  should  come  in  but  Mr.  Preston.  I  fancy 
he's  having  more  of  the  management  of  the  Hollingford  property 
than  formerly.  Sheepshanks  is  getting  an  old  man.  And  if  so,  I 
suspect  we  shall  see  a  good  deal  of  Preston.  He's  *  no  blate,'  as 
they  used  to  say  in  Scotland,  and  made  himself  quite  at  home  to- 
night. If  I'd  asked  him  to  stay,  or,  indeed,  if  I'd  done  an}i,hing  but 
yawn,  he'd  have  been  here  now.  But  I  defy  any  man  to  stay  when 
I  have  a  fit  of  yawning." 

"  Do  you  like  Mr.  Preston,  papa  ?  "  asked  Molly. 

"  About  as  much  as  I  do  half  the  men  I  meet.  He  talks  well, 
and  has  seen  a  good  deal.  I  know  very  little  of  him,  though, 
except  that  he's  my  lord's  steward,  which  is  a  guarantee  for  a  good 
deal." 

"  Lady  Harriet  spoke  pretty  strongly  against  him  that  day  I  was 
with  her  at  the  Manor-house." 

"  Lady  Harriet's  always  full  of  fancies  :  she  likes  persons  to-day, 
and  dislikes  them  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  who  was  touched 
on  her  sore  point  whenever  Molly  quoted  Lady  Harriet,  or  said  atiy- 
thing  to  imply  ever  so  transitory  an  intimacy  with  her. 

"  You  must  know  a  good  deal  about  Mr.  Preston,  my  dear.  I 
suppose  you  saw  a  good  deal  of  him  at  Ashcombe  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gibson  coloured,  and  looked  at  Cynthia  before  she  repHed. 
Cynthia's  face  was  set  into  a  determination  not  to  speak,  however 
much  she  might  be  referred  to. 

"  Yes ;  we  saw  a  good  deal  of  him — at  one  time,  I  mean.  He's 
changeable,  I  think.  But  he  always  sent  us  game,  and  sometimes 
fruit.  There  were  some  stories  against  him,  but  I  never  believed 
them." 


246  '  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS.  "*^ 

"  What  kind  of  stories  ?  "  said  Mr.  Gibson,  quickly. 

"  Oh,  vague  stories,  you  know  :  scandal,  I  daresay.  No  one 
ever  believed  them.  He  could  be  so  agreeable  if  he  chose  ;  and  my 
lord,  who  is  so  very  particular,  would  never  have  kept  him  as  agent 
if  they  were  true ;  not  that  I  ever  knew  what  they  were,  for  I  con- 
sider all  scandal  as  abominable  gossip." 

"  I'm  very  glad  I  yawned  in  his  face,"  said  Mr.  Gibson.  **  I 
hope  he'll  take  the  hint." 

"  If  it  was  one  of  your  giant-gapes,  papa,  I  should  call  it  more 
than  a  hint,"  said  Molly.  "  And  if  you  want  a  yawning  chorus  the 
nest  time  he  comes,  I'll  join  in ;  won't  you,  C}Tithia  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  latter,  shortly,  as  she  lighted  her 
bed-candle.  The  two  girls  had  usually  some  nightly  conversation  in 
one  or  other  of  their  bed-rooms  ;  but  to-night  Cynthia  said  some- 
thing or  other  about  being  tenibly  tired,  and  hastily  shut  her 
door. 

The  very  next  day,  Eoger  came  to  pay  his  promised  call.  Molly 
was  out  in  the  garden  with  Williams,  planning  the  arrangement  of 
some  new  flower-beds,  and  deep  in  her  employment  of  placing  pegs 
upon  the  lawn  to  mark  out  the  different  situations,  when,  standing 
up  to  mark  the  effect,  her  eye  was  caught  by  the  figure  of  a  gentle- 
man, sitting  with  his  back  to  the  light,  leaning  forwards  aud  talking, 
or  listening,  eagerly.  Molly  knew  the  shape  of  the  head  perfectly, 
and  hastily  began  to  put  off  her  brown-holland  gardening  apron, 
emptying  the  pockets  as  she  spoke  to  Williams. 

"  You  can  finish  it  now,  I  think,"  said  she.  "  You  know  about 
the  bright- coloured  flowers  being  against  the  privet-hedge,  and  where 
the  new  rose-bed  is  to  be  ?  " 

"  I  can't  justly  say  as  I  do,"  said  he.  "  Mebbe,  you'll  just  go 
o'er  it  all  once  again,  Miss  Molly.  I'm  not  so  young  as  I  oncst  was, 
and  my  head  is  not  so  clear  now-a-days,  and  I'd  be  loath  to  make 
mistakes  when  you're  so  set  upon  your  plans." 

Molly  gave  up  her  impulse  in  a  moment.  She  saw  that  the  old 
gardener  was  really  perplexed,  yet  that  he  was  as  anxious  as  he 
could  be  to  do  his  best.  So  she  went  over  the  ground  again,  peg- 
ging and  explaining  till  tho  wrinkled  brow  was  smooth  again,  and  he 
kept  saying,  "  I  see,  miss.  All  right.  Miss  Molly,  I'se  getten  it  in 
my  head  as  clear  as  patchwork  now." 

So  she  could  leave  him,  and  go  in.  But  just  as  she  was  close  to 
the  garden  door,  Roger  came  out.     It  really  was  for  once  a  case  of 


THE   HALF-SISTERS.  247 

virtue  its  own  reward,  for  it  was  far  pleasauter  to  her  to  have  him  iu 
a  tete-a-tete,  however  short,  than  iu  the  restraint  of  Mrs.  Gibson's 
anil  Cynthia's  presence. 

"  I  only  just  found  out  whore  you  were,  Molly.  Mrs.  Gibson 
said  you  had  gone  out,  but  she  didn't  know  where  ;  and  it  was  the 
greatest  chance  that  I  turned  round  and  saw  you." 

"I  saw  you  some  time  ago,  but  I  couldn't  leave  Williams.  I 
think  he  was  unusually  slow  to-day ;  and  he  seemed  as  if  he  couldn't 
understand  my  plans  for  the  new  flower-beds." 

"Is  that  the  paper  you've  got  in  your  hand?  Let  me  look  at 
it,  will  you  ?  Ah,  I  see  !  you've  borrowed  some  of  your  ideas  from 
our  garden  at  home,  haven't  you  ?  This  bed  of  scarlet  geraniums, 
with  the  border  of  young  oaks,  pegged  down !  That  was  a  fancy  of 
my  dear  mother's." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  minute  or  two.     Then  Molly  said, — 

"  How  is  the  squire  ?     I've  never  seen  him  since." 

"  No,  he  told  me  how  much  he  wanted  to  see  you,  but  he  couldn't 
make  up  his  mind  to  come  and  call.  I  suppose  it  would  never  do 
now  for  you  to  come  and  stay  at  the  Hall,  would  it  ?  It  would  give 
my  father  so  much  pleasure :  he  looks  upon  you  as  a  daughter,  and 
I'm  sure  both  Osborne  and  I  shall  always  consider  you  are  like  a 
sister  to  us,  after  all  my  mother's  love  for  you,  and  your  tender  care 
of  her  at  last.     But  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do." 

"  No  !  certainly  not,"  said  Molly,  hastily. 

"  I  fancy  if  you  could  come  it  would  put  us  a  little  to  rights. 
You  know,  as  I  think  I  once  told  you,  Osborne  has  behaved  difi'er- 
eutly  to  what  I  should  have  done,  though  not  wrongly, — only  what  I 
call  an  error  of  judgment.     But  my  father,  I'm  sure,  has  taken  up 

some  notion  of never  mind  ;  only  the  end  of  it  is  that  he  holds 

Osborne  still  in  tacit  disgrace,  and  is  miserable  himself  all  the  tame. 
Osborne,  too,  is  sore  and  unhappy,  and  estranged  from  my  father. 
It  is  just  what  my  mother  would  have  put  right  very  soon,  and  per- 
haps you  could  have  done  it — unconsciously,  I  mean — for  this 
wretched  mystery  that  Osborne  preserves  about  his  affairs  is  at  the 
root  of  it  all.  But  there's  no  use  talking  about  it ;  I  don't  know 
why  I  began."     Then,  with  a  wrench,  changing  the  subject,  while 

Molly  still  thought  of  what  he  had  been  telling  her,  he  broke  out, 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  like  Miss  Kirkpatrick,  Molly.  It 
must  be  a  great  pleasure  to  you  having  such  a  companion  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Molly,  half  smiling.     "I'm  very  fond  of  her;  and 


248  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

I  thiuk  I  like  her  better  every  day  I  know  her.  But  how  quickly 
you  have  found  out  her  virtues  !  " 

"I  didn't  say  'virtues,'  did  I?  "  asked  he,  reddening,  but  put- 
ting the  question  in  all  good  faith.  "  Yet  I  don't  ..hiuk  one  could 
be  deceived  in  that  face.  And  Mrs.  Gibson  appears  to  be  a  veiy 
friendly  person, — she  has  asked  Osborne  and  me  to  dine  here  on 
Friday." 

"  Bitter  beer  "  came  into  Molly's  mind;  but  what  she  said  was, 
"  And  are  you  coming  ?  " 

"Certainly,  I  am,  unless  my  father  wants  me;  and  I've  given 
Mrs.  Gibson  a  conditional  promise  for  Osborne,  too.  So  I  shall  seo 
you  all  very  soon  again.  But  I  must  go  now.  I  have  to  keep  an 
appointment  seven  miles  from  here  in  half-an-hour's  time.  Good 
luck  to  your  flower-garden,  Molly."  \ 


/ 


(     249     ) 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

'the   old    SQUIRE'S    TROUBLES. 

Affairs  were  going  on  worse  at  the  Hall  than  Eoger  had  liked  to  tell. 
Moreover,  very  much  of  the  discomfort  there  arose  from  "  mere 
manner,"  as  people  express  it,  which  is  always  indescribable  and 
indefinable.  Quiet  and  passive  as  Mrs.  Hamley  had  always  been  in 
appearance,  she  was  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  house  as  long  as  she 
lived.  The  directions  to  the  servants,  down  to  the  most  minute 
particulars,  came  from  her  sitting-room,  or  from  the  sofa  on  which 
she  lay.  Her  children  always  knew  where  to  find  her  ;  and  to  find 
her,  was  to  find  love  and  sympathy.  Her  husband,  who  was  often 
restless  and  angry  from  one  cause  or  another,  always  came  to  her  to 
he  smoothed  down  and  put  right.  He  was  conscious  of  her  pleasant 
influence  over  him,  and  became  at  peace  with  himself  when  in  her 
presence ;  just  as  a  child  is  at  ease  when  with  some  one  who  is  both 
firm  and  gentle.  But  the  keystone  of  the  family  arch  was  gone,  and 
the  stones  of  which  it  was  composed  began  to  fall  apart.  It  is  always 
sad  when  a  sorrow  of  this  kind  seems  to  injure  the  character  of  the 
mourning  survivors.  Yet,  perhaps,  this  injury  may  be  only  tem- 
porary or  superficial;  the  judgments  so  constantly  passed  upon^he 
way  people  bear  the  loss  of  those  whom  they  have  deeply  loved, 
appear  to  be  even  more  cruel,  and  wrongly  meted  out,  than  human 
judgments  generally  are.  To  careless  observers,  for  instance,  it 
would  seem  as  though  the  squire  was  rendered  more  capricious  and 
exacting,  more  passionate  and  authoritative,  by  his  wife's  death. 
The  truth  was,  that  it  occurred  at  a  time  when  many  things  came  to 
harass  him,  and  some  to  bitterly  disappoint  him  ;  and  slie  was  no 
longer  there  to  whom  he  used  to  carry  his  sore  heart  for  the  gentle 
balm  of  her  sweet  words,  if  the  sore  heart  ached  and  smarted  in- 
tensely ;  and  often,  when  he  saw  how  his  violent  conduct  affected 


250  "WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

others,  he  could  have  cried  out  for  their  pity,  instead  cf  ^heir  auger 
and  resentment :  "  Have  mercy  upon  me,  for  I  am  very  miserable." 
How  often  have  such  dumb  thoughts  gone  up  from  the  heirts  of 
those  who  have  taken  hold  of  their  sorrow  by  the  wrong  cLd,  as 
prayers  against  sin !  And  when  the  squire  saw  that  his  sei'vants 
v;ere  learning  to  dread  him,  and  his  first-born  to  avoid  him,  he  did 
not  blame  them.  He  knew  he  was  becoming  a  domestic  tyrant ;  it 
seemed  as  if  all  circumstances  conspired  against  him,  and  as  if  he 
was  too  weak  to  struggle  with  them  ;  else,  why  did  everything  in 
doors  and  out  of  doors  go  so  wrong  just  now,  when  all  he  could  have 
done,  had  things  been  prosperous,  was  to  have  submitted,  in  very 
imperfect  patience,  to  the  loss  of  his  wife.  But  just  when  ho  needed 
ready  money  to  pacify  Osborne's  creditors,  the  harvest  had  turned 
out  remarkably  plentiful,  and  the  price  of  corn  had  sunk  down  to  a 
level  it  had  not  touched  for  years.  The  squire  had  insured  his  life 
at  the  time  of  his  marriage  for  a  pretty  large  sum.  It  was  to  be  a 
provision  for  his  wife,  if  she  had  survived  him,  and  for  their  younger 
children.  Roger  was  the  only  representative  of  these  interests  now; 
but  the  squire  was  unwilling  to  lose  the  insurance  by  ceasing  to  pay 
the  annual  sum.  He  would  not,  if  he  could,  have  sold  any  part 
of  the  estate  which  he  inherited  from  his  father ;  and,  besides,  it  was 
strictly  entailed.  He  had  sometimes  thought  how  wise  a  step  it 
would  have  been  could  he  have  sold  a  portion  of  it,  and  with  the 
purchase-money  have  drained  and  reclaimed  the  remainder  ;  and  at 
length,  learning  from  some  neighbour  that  Government  would  make 
certain  advances  for  drainage,  &c.,  at  a  veiy  low  rate  of  interest,  on 
condition  that  the  work  was  done,  and  the  money  repaid,  within  a 
given  time,  his  wife  had  urged  him  to  take  advantage  of  the  proffered 
loan.  But  now  that  she  was  no  longer  there  to  encourage  him,  and 
take  an  interest  in  the  progress  of  the  work,  he  grew  indifferent  to  it 
himself,  and  cared  no  more  to  go  out  on  his  stout  roan  cob,  and  sit 
square  on  his  seat,  watching  the  labourers  on  the  marshy  land  all 
overgrown  with  rushes ;  speaking  to  them  from  time  to  time  in  their 
own  strong  nervous  country  dialect :  but  the  interest  to  Government 
had  to  be  paid  all  the  same,  whether  the  men  worked  well  or  ill. 
Then  the  roof  of  the  Hall  let  in  the  melted  snow-water  this  winter ; 
and,  on  examination,  it  turned  out  that  a  new  roof  was  absolutely 
required.  The  men  who  had  come  about  the  advances  made  to 
Osborne  by  the  London  money-lender,  had  spoken  disparagingly  of 
the  timber  on  the  estate — "  Very  fine  trees — sound,  perhaps,  too, 


THE   OLD   PQUIllE'S  TROUBLES.  251 

fifty  years  ago,  but  gone  to  rot  now  ;  had  wanted  lopping  and 
clearing.  Was  there  no  wood-ranger  or  forester  ?  They  were 
nothing  like  the  value  young  Mr.  Hamley  had  represented  them  to 
be  of."  The  remarks  had  come  round  to  the  squire's  ears.  He  loved 
the  trees  he  had  played  under  as  a  boy  as  if  they  were  living 
creatures  ;  that  was  on  the  romantic  side  of  his  nature.  Merely 
looking  at  them  as  representing  so  many  pounds  sterling,  he  had 
esteemed  them  highly,  and  had  had,  until  now,  no  opinion  of  another 
by  which  to  correct  his  own  judgment.  So  these  words  of  the  valuers 
cut  him  shai-p,  although  he  affected  to  disbelieve  them,  and  tried  to 
persuade  himself  that  he  did  so.  But,  after  all,  these  cares  and 
disappointments  did  not  touch  the  root  of  his  deep  resentment 
against  Osborne.  There  is  nothing  like  wounded  affection  for  giving 
poignancy  to  auger.  And  the  squire  believed  that  Osborne  and  his 
advisers  had  been  making  calculations,  based  upon  his  ov.ti  death. 
He  hated  the  idea  so  much — it  made  him  so  miserable — that  he  would 
not  face  it,  and  define  it,  and  meet  it  with  full  inquiry  and  investiga- 
tion. He  chose  rather  to  cherish  the  morbid  fancy  that  he  was 
useless  in  this  world — born  under  an  unlucky  star — that  all  things 
went  badly  under  his  management.  But  he  did  not  become  humble 
in  consequence.  He  put  his  misfortunes  down  to  the  score  of  Fate — 
not  to  his  own  ;  and  he  imagined  that  Osborne  saAV  his  failures,  and 
that  his  first-born  grudged  him  his  natural  term  of  life.  All  these 
fancies  would  have  been  set  to  rights  could  he  have  talked  them  over 
with  his  wife ;  or  even  had  he  been  accustomed  to  mingle  much  in 
the  society  of  those  whom  he  esteemed  his  equals ;  but,  as  has  been 
stated,  he  was  inferior  in  education  to  those  who  should  have  been 
his  mates  ;  and  perhaps  the  jealousy  and  manvaise  Jionte  that  this 
inferiority  had  called  out  long  ago,  extended  itself  in  some  measure 
to  the  feelings  he  entertained  towards  his  sons — less  to  Roger  than 
to  Osborne,  though  the  former  was  turning  out  by  far  the  most 
distinguished  man.  But  Roger  was  practical ;  interested  in  all  out- 
of-doors  things,  and  he  enjoyed  the  details,  homely  enough,  which 
his  father  sometimes  gave  him  of  the  every-day  occurrences  which 
the  latter  had  noticed  in  the  woods  and  the  fields.  Osborne,  on  the 
contrary,  was,  what  is  commonly  called  "  fine  ;  "  delicate  almost  to 
effeminacy  in  dress  and  in  manner;  careful  in  small  observances. 
All  this  his  father  had  been  rather  proud  of  in  the  days  when  he 
looked  forward  to  a  brilliant  career  at  Cambridge  for  his  son ;  he 
had  at  that  time  regarded  Osborne's  fastidiousness  and  elegance  as 


252  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

another  stepping-stone  to  the  high  and  prosperous  marriage  which 
was  to  restore  the  ancient  fortunes  of  the  Hamley  family.  But  now 
that  Osborne  had  barely  obtained  his  degree  ;  that  all  the  boastings 
of  his  father  had  proved  vain ;  that  the  fastidiousness  had  led  to  un- 
expected expenses  (to  attribute  the  most  innocent  cause  to  Osborne's 
debts),  the  poor  young  man's  ways  and  manners  became  a  subject  of 
irritation  to  his  father.  Osborne  was  still  occupied  with  his  books 
and  his  writings  when  he  was  at  home ;  and  this  mode  of  passing 
the  greater  part  of  the  day  gave  him  but  few  subjects  in  common  with 
his  father  when  they  did  meet  at  meal  times,  or  in  the  evenings. 
Perhaps  if  Osborne  had  been  able  to  have  more  out-of-door  amuse- 
ments it  would  have  been  better ;  but  he  was  short-sighted,  and  cared 
little  for  the  carefully  observant  pursuits  of  his  brother ;  he  knew  but 
few  young  men  of  his  own  standing  in  the  county ;  his  hunting  even, 
of  which  he  was  passionately  fond,  had  been  curtailed  this  season, 
as  his  father  had  disposed  of  one  of  the  two  hunters  he  had  been 
hitherto  allowed.  The  whole  stable  establishment  had  been  reduced; 
perhaps  because  it  was  the  economy  which  told  most  on  the  enjoy- 
ment of  both  the  squire  and  Osborne,  and  which,  therefore,  the 
former  took  a  savage  pleasure  in  enforcing.  The  old  carriage — a 
heavy  family  coach  bought  in  the  days  of  comparative  prosperity — 
was  no  longer  needed  after  madam's  death,  and  fell  to  pieces  in  the 
cobwebbed  seclusion  of  the  coach-house.  The  best  of  the  two 
carriage-horses  was  taken  for  a  gig,  which  the  squire  now  set  up ; 
saying  many  a  time  to  all  who  might  care  to  listen  to  him  that  it  was 
the  first  time  for  generations  that  the  Hamleys  of  Hamley  had  not 
been  able  to  keep  their  own  coach.  The  other  carriage-horse  was 
turned  out  to  grass  ;  being  too  old  for  regular  work.  Conqueror 
used  to  come  whinnying  up  to  the  park  palings  whenever  he  saw  the 
squire,  who  had  always  a  piece  of  bread,  or  some  sugar,  or  an  apple 
for  the  old  favourite  ;  and  would  make  many  a  complaining  speech  to 
the  dumb  animal,  telling  him  of  the  change  of  times  since  both  were  in 
their  prime.  It  had  never  been  the  squire's  custom  to  encourage  his 
boys  to  invite  their  friends  to  the  Hall.  Perhaps  this,  too,  was  owing 
to  his  viauvaise  houte,  and  also  to  an  exaggerated  consciousness  of 
the  deficiencies  of  his  establishment  as  compared  with  what  he 
imagined  these  lads  were  accustomed  to  at  home.  He  explained  this 
once  or  twice  to  Osborne  and  Roger  when  they  were  at  Rugby. 

"  You  see,  all  you  public  schoolboys  have  a  kind  of  freemasonry 
of  your  own,  and  outsiders  are  looked  on  by  you  much  as  I  look  on 


THK  OLD   squire's   TROUBLES.  253 

rabbits  and  all  that  isn't  game.  Ay,  you  may  laugh,  but  it  is  so  ; 
and  your  friends  will  throw  their  eyes  askance  at  me,  and  never  think 
on  my  pedigree,  which  would  beat  theirs  all  to  shivers,  I'll  be  bound. 
No  ;  I'll  have  no  one  here  at  the  Hall  who  will  look  down  on  a  Hamlcy 
of  Hamley,  even  if  he  only  knows  how  to  make  a  cross  instead  of 
WTite  his  name." 

Then,  of  course,  they  must  not  visit  at  houses  to  whose  sons  the 
squire  could  not  or  would  not  return  a  like  hospitality.  On  all  these 
points  Mrs.  Hamley  had  used  her  utmost  influence  without  avail ;  his 
prejudices  were  immoveable.  As  regarded  his  position  as  head  of  the 
oldest  family  in  three  counties,  his  pride  was  invincible ;  as  regarded 
himself  personally — ill  at  ease  in  the  society  of  his  equals,  deficient 
in  manners,  and  in  education — his  morbid  sensitiveness  was  too  sore 
and  too  self-conscious  to  be  called  humility. 

Take  one  instance  from  among  many  similar  scenes  of  the  state 
of  feeling  between  the  squire  and  his  eldest  son,  which,  if  it  could 
not  be  called  active  discord,  showed  at  least  passive  estrangement. 

It  took  place  on  an  evening  in  the  March  succeeding  Mrs.  Ham- 
ley's  death.  Roger  was  at  Cambridge.  Osborne  had  also  been  from 
home,  and  he  had  not  volunteered  any  information  as  to  his  absence. 
The  squire  believed  that  Osborne  had  been  either  in  Cambridge  with 
his  brother,  or  in  London  ;  he  would  have  liked  to  hear  where  his 
son  had  been,  what  he  had  been  doing,  and  whom  he  had  seen, 
precisely  as  pieces  of  news,  and  as  some  diversion  from  the  domestic 
worries  and  cares  which  were  pressing  him  hard  ;  but  he  was  too 
proud  to  ask  any  questions,  and  Osborne  had  not  given  him  any 
details  of  his  journey.  This  silence  had  aggravated  the  squire's 
internal  dissatisfaction,  and  he  came  home  to  dinner  weai*y  and  sore- 
hearted  a  day  or  two  after  Osborne's  return.  It  was  just  six  o'clock, 
and  he  went  hastily  into  his  own  little  business-room  on  the  ground- 
floor,  and,  after  washing  his  hands,  came  into  the  drawing-room 
feeling  as  if  he  were  very  late,  but  the  room  was  empty.  He  glanced 
at  the  clock  over  the  mantel-piece,  as  he  tried  to  warm  his  hands  at 
the  fire.  The  fire  had  been  neglected,  and  had  gone  out  during  the 
day  ;  it  was  now  piled  up  with  half-dried  wood,  which  sputtered  and 
smoked  instead  of  doing  its  duty  in  blazing  and  warming  the  room, 
through  which  the  keen  wind  was  cutting  its  way  in  all  directions. 
The  clock  had  stopped,  no  one  had  remembered  to  wind  it  up,  but  by 
the  squire's  watch  it  was  already  past  dinner-time.  The  old  butler 
put  his  head  into  the  room,  but,   seeing  the  squire  alone,  he  was 


254  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTEUS. 

iibout  to  draw  it  back,  and  wait  for  Mr.  OsLorne,  before  announcing 
dinner.  He  had  hoped  to  do  this  unperceived,  but  the  squire  caught 
him  in  the  act. 

"  Why  isn't  dinner  ready  ?  "  he  called  out  sharply.  "  It's  ten 
minutes  past  six.  And,  pray,  why  are  you  using  this  wood  ?  It*s 
impossible  to  get  oneself  warm  by  such  a  fire  as  this." 

"  I  believe,  sir,  that  Thomas " 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  Thomas.     Send  dinner  in  directly." 

About  five  minutes  elapsed,  spent  by  the  hungry  squii'e  in  all 
sorts  of  impatient  ways — attacking  Thomas,  who  came  in  to  look 
after  the  fire  ;  knocking  the  logs  about,  scattering  out  sparks,  but 
considerably  lessening  the  chances  of  warmth  ;  touching  up  the 
caudles,  which  appeared  to  him  to  give  a  light  unusually  insufficient 
for  the  large  cold  room.  While  he  was  doing  this,  Osborne  came  in 
dressed  in  full  evening  dress.  He  always  moved  slowly ;  and  this, 
to  begin  with,  irritated  the  squire.  Then  an  uncomfortable  con- 
sciousness of  a  black  coat,  drab  trousers,  checked  cotton  cravat,  and 
splashed  boots,  forced  itself  upon  him  as  he  saw  Osborne's  point- 
device  costume.  He  chose  to  consider  it  affectation  and  finery  in 
Osborne,  and  was  on  the  point  of  bursting  out  with  some  remark, 
Avhen  the  butler,  who  had  watched  Osborne  do\^^lstairs  before  making 
the  announcement,  came  in  to  say  dinner  was  readj'. 

"  It  surely  isn't  six  o'clock  ?  "  said  Osborne,  pulling  out  his 
dainty  little  watch.  He  was  scarcely  more  unaware  than  it  of  the 
storm  that  was  brewing. 

"  Six  o'clock  !  It's  more  than  a  quarter  past,"  growled  out  his 
father. 

"  I  fancy  your  watch  must  be  wrong,  sir.  I  set  mine  by  the 
Horse  Guards  only  two  days  ago." 

Now,  impugning  that  old  steady,  turnip-shaped  watch  of  the 
squire's  was  one  of  the  insults  which,  as  it  could  not  reasonably  be 
resented,  was  not  to  be  forgiven.  That  watch  had  been  given  him 
by  his  father  when  watches  were  watches  long  ago.  It  had  given 
the  law  to  house-clocks,  stable-clocks,  kitchen-clocks — nay,  even  to 
Hamley  Church  clock  in  its  day ;  and  was  it  now,  in  its  respectable  old 
age,  to  be  looked  down  upon  by  a  little  whipper-snapper  of  a  French 
watch  which  could  go  into  a  man's  waistcoat  pocket,  instead  of  having 
to  be  extricated,  with  due  efforts,  like  a  respectable  watch  of  size  and 
position,  from  a  fob  in  the  waistband.  No  !  not  if  the  whipper- 
snapper  were  backed  by  all  the  Horse  Guards  that  ever  were,  with 


THE   OLD   squire's   TROUBLES.  255 

tlic  Life  Guards  to  boot.  Poor  Osborne  might  have  known  better 
than  to  cast  this  slur  on  his  father's  flesh  and  blood  ;  for  so  dear  did 
he  hold  his  watch  ! 

"  My  watch  is  like  myself,"  said  the  squire,  '  giming,'  as  the 
Scotch  say — "  plain,  but  steady-going.  At  any  rate,  it  gives  the  law 
in  my  house.     The  King  may  go  by  the  Horse  Guards  if  he  likes." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Osborne,  really  anxious  to  keep 
the  peace,  "  I  went  by  my  watch,  which  is  certainly  right  by  London 
time  ;  and  I'd  no  idea  you  were  waiting  for  me  ;  otherwise  I  could 
have  dressed  much  quicker." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  the  squire,  looking  sarcastically  at  his 
son's  attire.  ""When  I  was  a  young  man  I  should  have  been 
ashamed  to  have  spent  as  much  time  at  my  looking-glass  as  if  I'd 
been  a  girl.  I  could  make  myself  as  smart  as  any  one  when  I  was 
going  to  a  dance,  or  to  a  party  where  I  was  likely  to  meet  pretty 
girls  ;  but  I  should  have  laughed  myself  to  scorn  if  I'd  stood  fiddle- 
faddling  at  a  glass,  smirking  at  my  own  likeness,  all  for  my  own 
pleasure." 

Osborne  reddened,  and  was  on  the  point  of  letting  fly  some 
caustic  remark  on  his  father's  dress  at  the  present  moment ;  but  he 
contented  himself  with  saying,  in  a  low  voice, — 

' '  My  mother  always  expected  us  all  to  dress  for  dinner.  I  got 
into  the  habit  of  doing  it  to  please  her,  and  I  keep  it  up  now." 
Indeed,  he  had  a  certain  kind  of  feeling  of  loyalty  to  her  memoiy  in 
keeping  up  all  the  little  domestic  habits  and  customs  she  had  insti- 
tuted or  preferred.  But  the  contrast  which  the  squire  thought  was 
implied  by  Osborne's  remark,  put  him  beside  himself. 

"  And  I,  too,  try  to  attend  to  her  wishes.  I  do ;  and  in  more 
important  things.     I  did  when  she  was  alive  ;  and  I  do  so  now." 

"I  never  said  you  did  not,"  said  Osborne,  astonished  at  his 
father's  passionate  words  and  manner. 

"  Yes,  you  did,  sir.  You  meant  it.  I  could  see  by  your  looks. 
I  saw  you  look  at  my  morning  coat.  At  any  rate,  I  never  neglected 
any  wish  of  hers  in  her  lifetime.     If  she'd  wished  me  to  go  to  school 

again  and  learn  my  A,  B,  C,  I  would.     By I  would;  and  I 

wouldn't  have  gone  plajdng  me,  and  lounging  away  my  time,  for  fear 
of  vexing  and  disappointing  her.  Y''et  some  folks  older  than  school- 
boys   " 

The  squire  choked  here ;  but  though  the  words  would  not  come 
his  passion  did  not  diminish.     "I'll  not  have  you  casting  up  your 


256  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

mother's  wishes  to  me,  sir.  You,  who  went  near  to  break  her  heart 
at  last !  " 

OsLorne  was  strongly  tempted  to  get  up  and  leave  the  room. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  he  had ;  it  might  then  have 
brought  about  an  explanation,  and  a  reconciliation  between  father 
and  son.  But  he  thought  he  did  well  in  sitting  still  and  appearing 
to  take  no  notice.  This  indifference  to  what  he  was  saying  appeared 
to  annoy  the  squire  still  more,  and  he  kept  on  grumbling  and  talking 
to  himself  till  Osborne,  unable  to  bear  it  any  longer,  said,  very 
quietly,  but  very  bitterly — 

"  I  am  only  a  cause  of  irritation  to  you,  and  home  is  no  longer 
home  to  me,  but  a  place  in  which  I  am  to  be  controlled  in  trifles,  and 
scolded  about  trifles  as  if  I  were  a  child.  Put  me  in  a  way  of 
making  a  living  for  myself — that  much  your  oldest  son  has  a  right  to 
ask  of  you — I  will  then  leave  this  house,  and  you  shall  be  no  longer 
vexed  by  my  dress,  or  my  want  of  punctuality." 

"You  make  your  request  pretty  much  as  another  son  did  long 
ago :  '  Give  me  the  portion  that  falleth  to  me.'     But  I  don't  think 

what  he  did  with  his  money  is  much  encouragement  for  me  to .'' 

Then  the  thought  of  how  little  he  could  give  his  son  his  "portion," 
or  any  part  of  it,  stopped  the  squire. 

Osborne  took  up  the  speech. 

"  I'm  as  ready  as  any  man  to  earn  my  living ;  only  the  prepara- 
tion for  any  profession  will  cost  money,  and  money  I  haven't  got." 

"  No  more  have  I,"  said  the  squire,  shortly. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  then  ?  "  said  Osborne,  only  half  believing 
his  father's  words. 

"  Why,  you  must  learn  to  stop  at  home,  and  not  take  expensive 
journeys ;  and  you  must  reduce  your  tailor's  bill.  I  don't  ask  you 
to  help  me  in  the  management  of  the  land — you're  far  too  fine  a 
gentleman  for  that ;  but  if  you  can't  earn  money,  at  least  you 
needn't  spend  it." 

"  I've  told  you  I'm  willing  enough  to  earn  money,"  cried  Osborne, 
passionately  at  last.  "But  how  am  I  to  do  it?  You  really  are 
very  unreasonable,  sir." 

"Am  I?"  said  the  squire — cooling  in  manner,  thougb  not  in 
temper,  as  -Osborne  grew  warm.  "  But  I  don't  set  up  for  being 
reasonable  ;  men  who  have  to  pay  away  money  that  they  haven't  got 
for  their  extravagant  sons  aren't  likely  to  be  reasonable.  There's 
two  things  you've  gone  and  done  which  put  me  beside  myself,  when  I 


THE   OLD    squire's   TROUBLES.  257 

tliiuk  of  tliem ;  you've  turned  out  next  tloor  to  a  cluuce  at  college, 
Avhen  your  poor  mother  thought  so  much  of  you — aucl  when  yoix 
might  have  pleased  and  gratified  her  so  if  you  chose — and,  well !  I 
•R-ou"t  say  -what  the  other  thing  is." 

"  Tell  me,  sir,"  said  Osborne,  almost  breathless  with  the  idea 
that  his  father  had  discovered  his  secret  marriage  ;  but  the  father 
was  thinking  of  the  money-lenders,  who  were  calculating  how  soon 
Osborne  would  come  into  the  estate. 

"  No  !  "  said  the  Squire.  "  I  know  what  I  know  ;  and  I'm  not 
going  to  tell  you  how  I  know  it.  Only,  I'll  just  say  this — your 
friends  no  more  know  a  piece  of  good  timber  when  they  see  it  than 
you  or  I  know  how  you  could  earn  five  pounds  if  it  was  to  keep  you 
from  starving.  Now,  there's  Eoger — we  none  of  us  made  an  ado 
about  him  ;  but  he'll  have  his  fellowship  now,  I'll  warrant  him,  and 
be  a  bishop,  or  a  chancellor,  or  something,  before  we've  found  out 
he's  clever — we've  been  so  much  taken  up  thinking  about  you.  I 
don't  know  what's  come  over  me  to  speak  of  '  wo ' — '  we '  in  this 
way,"  said  he,  suddenly  dropping  his  voice, — a  change  of  voice  as 
sad  as  sad  could  be.  "  I  ought  to  say  'I ;'  it  will  be  'I'  for  ever- 
more in  this  world." 

He  got  up  and  left  the  room  in  quick  haste,  knocking  over  his 
chair,  and  not  stopping  to  pick  it  up.  Osborne,  who  was  sitting  and 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  as  he  had  been  doing  for  some  time, 
looked  up  at  the  noise,  and  then  rose  as  quickly  and  hurried  after  his 
lather,  only  in  time  to  hear  the  study- door  locked  on  the  inside  the 
moment  ho  reached  it. 

Osborne  returned  into  the  dining-room  chagrined  and  sorrowful. 
But  he  was  always  sensitive  to  any  omission  of  the  usual  observances, 
v.-hich  might  excite  remark ;  and  even  with  his  heavy  heart  he  was 
careful  to  pick  up  the  fallen  chair,  and  restore  it  to  its  place  near  tfte 
bottom  of  the  table  ;  and  afterwards  so  to  disturb  the  dishes  as  to 
make  it  appear  that  they  had  been  touched,  before  ringing  for 
Robinson.  When  the  latter  came  in,  followed  by  Thomas,  Osborne 
thought  it  necessary  to  say  to  him  that  his  father  was  not  well,  and 
had  gone  into  the  study ;  and  that  he  himself  wanted  no  dessert,  but 
would  have  a  cup  of  cofl'ee  in  the  drawing-room.  The  old  butler 
sent  Thomas  out  of  the  room,  and  came  up  confidentially  to  Osborne. 

"I  thought  master  wasn't  justly  himself,  Mr.  Osborne,  before 
dinner.  And,  therefore,  I  made  excuses  for  him — I  did.  He  spoke 
to  Thomas  about  the  fire,  sir,  which  is  a  thing  I  could  in  nowise  put 
Vol.  I.  17 


258  WIVES  AXD   DAUGKTEP.S. 

up  v/ith,  unless  by  reason  of  sickness,  wliicli  I  am  always  ready  to 
make  allowances  for.' 

"  V/liy  shouldn't  my  father  speak  to  Thomas  ?  "  said  Osborne. 
"But,  perhaps,  he  spoke  angrily,  I  daresay;  for  I'm  sure  he's  not 
well." 

"  No,  Mr,  Osborne,  it  wasn't  that.  I  myself  am  given  to  anger  ; 
nnd  I'm  blessed  with  as  good  health  as  any  man  in  my  years.  Be- 
sides, anger's  a  good  thing  for  Thomas.  He  needs  a  deal  of  it. 
But  it  should  come  from  the  right  quarter — and  that  is  me,  myself, 
Mv.  Osborne.  I  know  my  place,  and  I  know  my  rights  and  duties  as 
well  as  any  butler  that  lives.  And  it's  my  duty  to  scold  Thomas, 
and  not  master's.  Master  ought  to  have  said,  '  Kobinson  !  you  must 
speak  to  Thomas  about  letting  out  the  fire,'  and  I'd  ha'  given  it  him 
well, — as  I  shall  do  uov/,  for  that  matter.  But  as  I  said  before,  I 
make  excuses  for  master,  as  being  in  mental  distress  and  bodily  ill- 
health  ;  so  I've  brought  myself  round  not  to  give  warning,  as  I 
should  ha'  done,  for  certain,  under  happier  circumstances." 

"  Beally,  Bobinson,  Ithink  it's  all  great  nonsense,"  said  Osborne^ 
weary  of  the  long  story  the  butler  had  told  him,  and  to  v,'hich  he  had 
not  half  attended.  "  What  in  the  world  does  it  signify  whether  my 
father  speaks  to  you  or  to  Thomas  ?  Bring  me  coSee  in  the  di-awing- 
room,  and  don't  trouble  your  head  any  more  about  scolding  Thomas." 
Piobinson  went  away  offended  at  his  grievance  being  called  non- 
sense. He  kept  muttering  to  himself  in  the  intervals  of  scolding 
Thomas,  and  saying, — "  Things  is  a  deal  changed  since  poor  missis 
•went.  I  don't  v/onder  master  feels  it,  for  I'm  sure  I  do.  She  was  a 
lady  who  had  always  a  becoming  respect  for  a  butler's  position,  and 
could  have  understood  how  he  might  bo  hurt  in  his  mind.  She'd 
never  ha'  called  his  delicacies  of  feehugs  nonsense — not  she  ;  no 
more  would  Mr.  Boger.  He"s  a  merry  joung  gentleman,  and  over- 
fond  of  bringing  dirty,  slimy  creatures  into  the  house  ;  but  he's 
always  a  kind  word  for  a  man  who  is  hurt  in  his  mind.  He'd  cheer 
up  the  squire,  and  keep  him  from  getting  so  cross  and  wilful.  I 
■wish  Mr.  Boger  was  here,  I  do." 

The  poor  squire,  shut  up  with  his  grief  and  his  iil-tcmpcr  as 
well,  in  the  dingy,  dreary  study  in  which  he  daily  spent  more  and 
more  of  his  indoors  life,  turned  over  his  cares  and  troubles  till  ho 
-was  as  bewildered  with  the  process  as  a  squirrel  must  be  in  going 
round  in  a  cage.  He  had  out  day-books  and  ledgers,  and  was  calcu- 
Litiug  up  back-rents  ;  and  every  time  the  sum-totals  came  to  different 


THE  OLD   squire's  TROUBLES.  259 

amounts.  He  could  have  cried  like  a  child  over  his  sums  ;  he  Avas 
"worn  out  aud  wearj^  angry  and  disappointed.  He  closed  his  books 
at  last  Avith  a  bang. 

"  I'm  getting  old,"  he  said,  "  and  my  head's  less  clear  than  it 
used  to  be.  I  think  sorrow  for  her  has  dazed  me.  I  never  was 
much  to  boast  on  ;  but  she  thought  a  deal  of  me — bless  her.  She'd 
never  let  me  call  myself  stupid ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  am  stupid. 
Osborne  ought  to  help  me.  He's  had  money  enough  spent  on  his 
learning ;  but,  instead,  he  comes  down  dressed  like  a  popinjay,  and 
never  troubles  his  head  to  think  how  I'm  to  pay  his  debts.  I  wish 
I'd  told  him  to  earn  his  living  as  a  dancing-master,"  said  the  squire, 
with  a  sad  smile  at  his  own  wit.  "  He's  dressed  for  all  the  world 
like  one.  And  how  he's  spent  the  money  no  one  knows  !  Perhaps 
Eoger  will  turn  up  some  day  with  a  heap  of  creditors  at  his  heels. 
No,  he  won't — not  Eoger  ;  he  may  be  slow,  but  he's  steady,  is  old 
Eoger.  I  msh  he  vras  hero.  He's  not  the  eldest  son,  but  he'd  take 
an  interest  in  the  estate ;  and  he'd  do  up  these  v*"eary  accounts  for 
mo.     I  wish  Eoger  was  here  !  " 


17—-' 


(     260 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
osBOEXE  iia:mley  revie^ys  his  positiox. 

OsBOEKE  had  his  solitaiy  cup  of  cofiee  in  the  draT\'iug-roora,  He 
was  Yery  unhappy  too,  after  his  fashion.  He  stood  on  the  hearth-rug 
pondering  over  his  situation.  He  was  not  exactly  aware  how  hardly 
his  father  was  pressed  for  ready-money ;  the  squire  had  never  spoken 
to  him  on  the  subject  without  being  angry  ;  and  many  of  his  loose 
contradictory  statements — all  of  which,  however  contradictory  they 
might  appear,  had  their  basis  in  truth — were  set  down  by  his  son  to 
the  exaggeration  of  passion.  But  it  was  uncomfortable  enough  to  a 
young  man  of  Osborne's  age  to  feel  himself  continually  hampered 
for  want  of  a  five-pound  note.  The  principal  supplies  for  the  liberal 
— almost  luxurious  table  at  the  Hall,  came  off  the  estate ;  so  that 
there  was  no  appearance  of  poverty  as  far  as  the  household  went ; 
and  as  long  as  Osborne  was  content  at  home,  he  had  everything  he 
could  wish  for  ;  but  he  had  a  wife  elsewhere— he  wanted  to  see  her 
continually — and  that  necessitated  journeys.  She,  poor  thing  !  had 
to  be  supported — where  was  the  money  for  the  journeys  and  for 
Aimee's  modest  wants  to  come  from  ?  That  was  the  puzzle  in 
Osborne's  mind  just  now.  While  he  had  been  at  college  his  allow- 
ance— heir  of  the  Hamleys — had  been  three  hundred,  while  Roger 
had  to  be  content  with  a  hundred  less.  The  payment  of  these  annual 
sums  had  given  the  squire  a  good  deal  of  trouble;  but  he  thought 
of  it  as  a  merely  temporary  inconvenience;  perhaps  unreasonably 
thought  so.  Osborne  was  to  do  great  things;  take  high  honours, 
get  a  fellowship,  marry  a  long-descended  heiress,  live  in  some  of  the 
many  uninhabited  rooms  at  the  Hall,  and  help  the  squire  in  the 
management  of  the  estate  that  would  some  time  be  his.  Roger  was 
to  be  a  clergyman  ;  steady,  slow  Roger,  was  just  fitted  for  that,  and 
when  he  declined  entering  the  Church,  prefening  a  life  of  more 


OSRORNE   IIAAILEY   REVIEWS   HIS   POSITION.  2G1 

activity  and  adventure,  lloger  was  to  bo  anything ;  he  was  useful  and 
practical,  and  fit  for  all  the  employments  from  which  Osborne  was 
shut  out  by  his  fastidiousness,  and  his  (pseudo)  genius  ;  so  it  was 
well  he  was  an  eldest  sou,  for  he  would  never  have  done  to  struggle 
through  the  world  ;  and  as  for  his  settling  down  to  a  profession,  it 
would  be  like  cutting  blocks  with  a  razor  !  And  now  here  was 
Osborne,  living  at  home,  but  longing  to  be  elsewhere  ;  his  allowance 
stopped  in  reahty ;  indeed  the  punctual  payment  of  it  during  the  last 
year  or  two  had  been  owing  to  his  mother's  exertions ;  but  nothing 
had  been  said  about  its  present  cessation  by  either  father  or  son  ; 
money  matters  were  too  sore  a  subject  between  them.  Every  now 
and  then  the  squire  threw  him  a  ten-pound  note  or  so ;  but  the  sort 
of  suppressed  growl  with  which  it  was  given,  and  the  entire  uncer- 
tainty as  to  when  he  might  receive  such  gifts,  rendered  any  calculation 
based  upon  their  receipt  exceedingly  vague  and  uncertain. 

"  "What  in  the  world  can  I  do  to  secure  an  income  ?"  thought 
Osborne,  as  he  stood  on  the  hearth-rug,  his  back  to  a  blazing  fire, 
his  cup  of  coffee  sent  up  in  the  rare  old  china  that  had  belonged  to 
the  Hall  for  generations ;  his  dress  finished,  as  dress  of  Osborne's 
could  hardly  fail  to  be.     One  could  hardly  have  thought  that  this 
elegant  young  man,   standing  there  in   the   midst  of  comfort  that 
verged  on  luxury,   should  have  been  turning  over  that  one   great 
problem  in  his  mind  ;  but  so  it  was.     "  What  can  I  do  to  be  sure 
of  a  present  income  '?     Things  cannot  go  on  as  they  are.     I  should 
need  support  for  two  or  three  years,  even  if  I  entered  myself  at  the 
Temple,  or  Lincoln's  Inn.     It  would  be  impossible  to  live  on  my  pay 
in  the  army ;  besides,  I  should  hate  that  profession.     In  fact,  there 
are  evils  attending  all  professions — I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  become 
a  member  of  any  I've   ever  heard  of.     Perhaps  I'm  more  fitted  to 
take  orders  than  anything  else ;  but  to  be  compelled  to  write  weeWy 
sermons  whether  one  had  anything  to   say  or  not,   and,  probably, 
doomed  only  to  associate  with  people  below  one  in  refinement  and 
education  !     Yet  poor  Aimee  must  have  money.     I  can't  bear  to 
compare  our  dinners    here,   overloaded  with   joints  and   game    and 
sweets,  as  Dawson  will  persist  in  sending  them  up,  with  Aimee's  two 
little  mutton-chops.     Yet  what  would  my  father  say  if  he  knew  I'd 
married  a  Frenchv>-oman  ?     In  his  present  mood  he'd  disinherit  me, 
if  that  is  possible ;  and  he"d  speak  about  her  in  a  way  I  couldn't 
stand.     A  Roman  Catholic,  too  !    Well,  I  don't  repent  it.     I'd  do  it 
again.     Only  if  my  mother  had  been  in  good  health — if  she  could 


262  -^VIVES  AXD    DAUGHTERS. 

have  liearcl  my  story,  aud  kuoAvn  Aimee !  As  it  is  I  must  keep  it 
secret ;  but  where  to  get  money  ?     Where  to  get  money  ?" 

Then  ho  bethought  him  of  his  poems — would  they  sell,  and  bring 
him  in  money  ?  In  spite  of  Milton,  he  thought  they  might ;  and  he 
went  to  fetch  his  MSS.  out  of  his  room.  He  sate  down  near  the 
fire,  trying  to  study  them  with  a  critical  eye,  to  represent  public 
opinion  as  far  as  he  could.  He  had  changed  his  style  since  the 
"Mrs.  Hemans'  days.  He  was  essentially  imitative  in  his  poetic 
faculty ;  and  of  late  he  had  followed  the  lead  of  a  popular  writer  of 
sonnets.  He  turned  his  poems  over :  they  were  almost  equivalent  to 
an  autobiographical  passage  in  his  life.  Arranging  them  in  their 
order,  they  came  as  follows  : — 

"  To  Aimee,  Walking  with  a  Little  Child." 

"  To  Aimee,  Singing  at  her  Yv^'ork." 

"  To  Aimee,  Turning  away  from  me  while  I  told  my  Love." 

"  Aimee 's  Confession." 

"  Aimee  in  Despair." 

"  The  Foreign  Land  in  which  my  Aimee  dwells." 

"The  Wedding  Ring." 

"  The  Wife." 

When  he  came  to  this  last  sonnet  he  put  down  his  bundle  of 
papers  and  began  to  think.  "  The  wife."  Yes,  and  a  French  wife ; 
and  a  Roman  Catholic  v.'ife — and  a  wife  who  might  be  said  to  have 
been  in  service  !  And  his  father's  hatred  of  the  French,  botli  collec- 
tively and  individually — collectively,  as  tumultuous  brutal  ruffians, 
who  murdered  their  king,  and  committed  all  kinds  of  bloody  atro- 
cities— individually,  as  represented  by  "  Boney,"  and  the  various 
caricatures  of  "  Johnny  Crapaud  "  that  had  been  in  full  circulation 
about  five-and-twenty  years  before  this  time,  when  the  squire  had 
been  young  and  capable  of  receiving  impressions.  As  for  the  form 
of  reHgion  in  which  Mrs.  Osborne  Hamley  had  been  brougiit  up,  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  Catholic  emancipation  had  begun  to  be  talked 
about  by  some  politicians,  and  that  the  sullen  roar  of  the  majority 
of  Englishmen,  at  the  bare  idea  of  it,  was  surging  in  the  distance 
with  ominous  threatenings ;  the  very  mention  of  such  a  measure 
before  the  squire  was,  as  Osborne  well  knew,  like  shaking  a  red  flag 
before  a  bull. 

And  then  he  considered  that  if  Aimee  had  had  the  unspeakable, 
the  incomparable  blessing  of  being  born  of  English  parents,  in  the 
vcrv  heart  of  England — Warwickshire,  for  instance — and  had  never 


OSBOIINE   IIAIILEY   REVIEWS   KIS   TOSITIOX.  2G3 

lioai'cl  of  priests,  or  mass,  or  coufession,  or  the  Pope,  or  Guy  Fawkes, 
but  had  been  born,  baptized,  and  bred  in  the  Church  of  England, 
without  having  cver^secn  the  outside  of  a  dissenting  meeting-house, 
or  a  papist  chapel — even  with  all  these  advantages,  her  having  been 
a  (what  was  the  equivalent  for  "bonne"  in  English?  nursery- 
governess  was  a  term  hardly  invented)  nursery-maid,  with  wages 
paid  down  once  a  quarter,  liable  to  be  dismissed  at  a  month's 
warning,  and  having  her  tea  and  sugar  doled  out  to  her,  would  be 
a  shock  to  his  father's  old  ancestral  pride  that  he  v/ould  hardly  ever 
get  over. 

"  If  he   saw  her!"    thought  Osborno.     "If  he  could  but   sea 
her !"     But  if  the  squire  were  to  see  Aimec,  he  v.-ould  also  hear  her 
speak  her  pretty  broken  English — precious  to  her  husband,  as  it  was 
in  it  that  she  had  confessed  brokenly  with  her  English  tongue,  that 
she  loved  him  soundly  with  her  French  heart — and  Squire  Hamley 
piqued  himself  on  being  a  good  hater  of  the  French.     "  She  would 
make  such  a  loving,   sweet,   docile  little  daughter  to  my  father — 
she  would   go   as  near  as   any   one    could   towards   filiiug  up  the 
blank  void  in  this  house,  if  he  could  but  have  her  ;  but  he  won't ; 
he  never  would  ;    and  he  sha'n't  have  the  opportunity  of  scouting 
her.     Yet  if  I  called  her  "Lucy"  in  these  sonnets;    and  if  they 
made  a  great  effect — were  praised  in  Blachvood  and  the  Quarterhf 
— and  all  the  world  was  agog  to  find  out  the  author  ;  and  I  told  him 
my  secret — I  could  if  I  were  successful — I  think  then  he  would  ask 
who  Lucy  was,  and  I  could  tell  him  all  then.     If — how  I  hate  '  ifs.' 
'  If  me  no  ifs.     My  life  has  been  based  on  '  wheus  ; '  and  first  they 
have  turned  to  '  ifs,'  and  then    they  had  vanished  away.     It  was 
'  when  Osborne  gets  honours,'   and  then  '  if  Osborne,'   and  then  a 
failure  altogether.     I  said  to  Aimee,  '  when  my  mother  sees  you,' 
and  now  it  is  '  if  my  father  saw  her,'  with  a  very  faint  prospe(^t  of 
its  ever  coming  to  pass."     So  ho  let  the  evening  hours  flow  on  and 
disappear  in  reveries  like  these ;  winding  up  with  a  sudden  determi- 
nation to  try  the  fate  of  his  poems  with  a  publisher,  with  the  dii-ect 
expectation  of  getting]  money  for  them,  and  an  ulterior  fancy  that,  if 
successful,  they  might  work  wonders  with  his  father. 

"When  Ptoger  came  home  Osborne  did  not  let  a  day  pass  before 
telling  his  brother  of  his  plans.  He  never  did  conceal  anythmg  long 
from  Eoger;  the  feminine  part  of  his  character  made  him  always 
desirous  of  a  confidant,  and  as  sweet  sympathy  as  he  could  extract. 
But  Roger's  opinion  had  no  cfiect  on  Osborne's  actions  ;  and  Roger 


264  VriVES  AXD   DAL'GHTEES. 

knew  this  full  well.  So  when  Osborne  began  ■n-itli — "  I  want  your 
advice  on  a  plan  I  have  got  in  my  head,"  Roger  replied  :  "  Some 
cue  told  me  that  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  maxim  was  never  to  give 
advice  unless  he  could  enforce  its  being  carried  into  eflect ;  now  I 
can't  do  that ;  and  you  know,  old  boy,  you  don't  follow  out  my 
advice  when  you've  got  it." 

"  Not  always,  I  know.  Not  when  it  does  not  agree  with  my  own 
opinion.  You're  thinking  about  this  concealment  of  my  marriage  ; 
but  you're  not  up  in  all  the  circumstances.  You  know  how  fully  I 
meant  to  have  done  it,  if  there  had  not  been  that  row  about  my 
debts  ;  and  then  my  mother's  illness  and  death.  And  now  you've 
no  conception  how  my  father  is  changed — how  irritable  he  has 
become !  Wait  till  you've  been  at  home  a  week !  Robinson, 
Morgan — it's  the  same  with  them  all ;  but  worst  of  all  with  me." 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Roger;  "  I  thought  he  looked  terribly 
changed  :  shrunken,  and  his  ruddiness  of  complexion  altered." 

"  Why,  he  hardly  takes  half  the  exercise  he  used  to  do,  so  it's 
no  Vv'onder.  He  has  turned  away  all  the  men  off  the  new  works, 
which  used  to  be  such  an  interest  to  him  ;  and  because  the  roan  cob 
stumbled  with  him  one  day,  and  nearly  threw  him,  he  won't  ride  it ; 
and  yet  he  won't  sell  it  and  buy  another,  which  would  be  the  sensible 
plan  ;  so  there  are  two  old  horses  eating  their  heads  oS,  Avhile  he  is 
constantly  talking  about  money  and  expense.  And  that  brings  mo  to 
what  I  was  going  to  say.  I'm  desperately  hard  up  for  money,  and 
so  I've  been  collecting  my  poems — weeding  them  well,  you  know — 
going  over  them  quite  critically,  in  fact ;  and  I  want  to  know  if  you 
think  Dcighton  would  publish  them.  You've  a  name  in  Cambridge, 
you  know  ;  and  I  daresay  he  would  look  at  them  if  you  ofl'ered  them 
to  him." 

"  I  can  but  try,"  said  Roger;  "but  I'm  afraid  you  won't  get 
much  by  them." 

"  I  don't  expect  much,  I'm  a  new  man,  and  must  take  my 
name.  I  should  be  content  with  a  hundred.  If  I'd  a  hundred 
pounds  I'd  set  myself  to  do  something.  I  might  keep  myself  and 
Aimee  by  my  writings  while  I  studied  for  the  bar ;  or,  if  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst,  a  hundred  pounds  would  take  us  to  Australia." 

"Australia!  Why,  Osborne,  what  could  you  do  there?  And 
leave  my  father !  I  hope  you'll  never  get  your  hundred  pounds,  if 
that's  the  use  you're  to  make  of  it !  Why,  you'd  break  the  squire's 
heart." 


OSBORNE  HAMLEY  REVIEWS  HIS  POSITION.  265 

"  It  might  have  douc  ouce,"  said  Osborne,  gloomilj',  "but  it 
would  uot  now.  He  looks  at  me  askauce,  and  shies  away  from  con- 
versation with  me.  Let  me  alone  for  noticing  and  feeling  this  kind 
of  thing.  It's  this  very  susceptibility  to  outward  things  that  gives 
me  what  faculty  I  have ;  and  it  seems  to  me  as  if  my  bread,  and 
my  wife's  too,  were  to  depend  upon  it.  You'll  soon  see  for  yourself 
the  terms  which  I  am  on  with  my  father  !  " 

Roger  did  soon  see.  His  father  had  slipped  into  a  habit  of 
silence  at  meal-times — a  habit  which  Osborne,  who  y\-as  troubled  and 
anxious  enough  for  his  own  part,  had  not  striven  to  break.  Father 
and  sou  sate  together,  and  exchanged  all  the  necessary  speeches 
connected  with  the  occasion  civilly  enough ;  but  it  was  a  relief  to 
them  when  their  intercourse  was  over,  and  they  separated — the  father 
to  brood  over  his  sorrow  and  his  disappointment,  which  were  real 
and  deep  enough,  and  the  injury  he  had  received  from  his  boy, 
which  was  exaggerated  in  his  mind  by  his  ignorance  of  the  actual 
steps  Osborne  had  taken  to  raise  money.  If  the  money-lenders  had 
calculated  the  chances  of  his  father's  life  or  death  in  making  their 
bargain,  Osborne  himself  had  thought  only  of  how  soon  and  hov? 
easily  he  could  get  the  money  requisite  for  clearing  him  from  all 
imperious  claims  at  Cambridge,  and  for  enabling  him  to  follow  Aimee 
to  her  home  in  Alsace,  and  for  the  subsequent  marriage.  As  yet, 
Roger  had  never  seen  his  brother's  wife  ;  indeed,  he  had  only  been 
taken  into  Osborne's  full  confidence  after  all  was  decided  in  which 
his  advice  could  have  been  useful.  And  now,  in  the  enforced  sepa- 
ration, Osborne's  whole  thought,  botli  the  poetical  and  practical  sides 
of  his  mind,  ran  upon  the  little  wife  who  was  passing  her  lonely 
days  in  farmhouse  lodgings,  wondering  when  her  bridegroom  husband 
would  come  to  her  next.  With  such  an  engrossing  subject,  it  was, 
perhaps,  no  wonder  that  he  unconsciously  neglected  his  father ; 
but  it  was  none  the  less  sad  at  the  time,  and  to  be  regretted  in 
its  consequences. 

"  I  may  come  in  and  have  a  pipe  with  you,  sir,  mayn't  I  ?  "  said 
Roger,  that  first  evening,  pushing  gently  against  the  study-door, 
which  his  father  held  only  half  open. 

"  You'll  not  like  it,"  said  the  squire,  still  holding  the  door  against 
him,  but  speaking  in  a  relenting  tone.  "The  tobacco  I  use  isn't 
what  young  men  like.     Better  go  and  have  a  cigar  with  Osborne." 

"No.  I  want  to  sit  with  you,  and  I  can  stand  pretty  strong 
tobacco." 


266  vnvES  and  daughtees. 

Roger  pushed  in,  the  resistance  slowly  giving  way  before  him, 

"  It  will  make  yonr  clothes  smell.  You'll  have  to  borrow  Osbonie's 
scents  to  sweeten  yourself,"  said  the  squire,  grimly,  at  the  same 
time  pushing  a  short  smart  amber-mouthed  pipe  to  his  son. 

"  No  ;  I'll  have  a  churchwarden.  Why,  father,  do  you  think  I'm 
a  baby  to  put  up  with  a  doll's  head  like  this  ?  "  looking  at  the  carving 
upon  it. 

The  squire  was  pleased  in  his  heart,  though  ho  did  not  choose  to 
show  it.  He  only  said,  "  Osborne  brought  it  mo  when  he  came  back 
from  Germany.  That's  three  years  ago."  And  then  for  some  time 
they  smoked  in  silence.  But  the  voluntaiy  companionship  of  his  sou 
was  very  soothing  to  the  squire,  though  not  a  word  might  be  said. 

The  next  speech  he  made  showed  the  direction  of  his  thoughts ; 
indeed  his  words  were  always  a  transparent  medium  through  which 
the  current  might  be  seen. 

"  A  deal  of  a  man's  life  comes  and  goes  in  three  years — I've  found 
that  out ;  and  he  pufi-ed  away  at  his  pipe  again.  Yf hilo  Eoger  was 
turning  over  in  his  mind  what  answer  to  make  to  this  truism,  the 
squire  again  stopped  his  smoking  and  spoke. 

"  I  remember  when  there  was  all  that  fuss  about  the  Prince  of 
Wales  being  made  regent,  I  read  somewhere — I  daresay  it  was  in  a 
newspaper — tliat  kings  and  their  heirs-apparent  were  always  on  bad 
terms. 

Osborne  was  quite  a  little  chap  then  :  he  used  to  go  out  riding  with 
me  on  Y/hite  Surrey;  you  won't  remember  the  pony  we  called  ^Vhite 
Surrey." 

"  I  remember  it ;  but  I  thought  it  a  tall  horse  in  those  days." 

Ah !  that  was  because  you  were  such  a  small  lad,  you  know. 
I  had  seven  horses  in  the  stable  then — not  counting  the  farm-horses. 
I  don't  recollect  having  a  care  then,  except — slu'  was  always  delicate, 
you  know.  But  vrhat  a  beautiful  boy  Osborne  was !  He  was  always 
dressed  in  black  velvet — it  was  a  foppery,  but  it  wasn't  my  doing,  and 
it  was  ail  right,  I'm  sure.  He's  a  handsome  fellov/  now,  but  the  sun- 
shine has  gone  out  of  his  face." 

"  He's  a  good  deal  troubled  about  this  money,  and  the  anxiety  he 
has  given  you,"  said  Kogor,  rather  taking  his  brother's  feelings  for 
granted. 

"  Not  he,"  said  the  squire,  taking  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and 
hitting  the  bowl  so  sharply  against  the  hob  that  it  broke  in  pieces. 
^' There!     But  never   mind!     I  say,  not  he,  Boger !     He's   none 


osror:xE  nA:iiLEY  reviews  uis  positiox.  2G7 

troubled  about  the  mone^'.  It's  easy  getting  money  from  Jews  if 
you're  the  eldest  son,  and  the  heii-.  They  just  ask,  '  How  old  is 
y-our  father,  and  has  he  had  a  stroke,  or  a  fit  ?  '  and  it's  settled  out 
of  hand,  and  then  they  come  prowling  about  a  place,  and  running 

down  the  timber  and  land Don't  let  us  speak  of  him  ;  it's  no 

good,  Eoger.  He  and  I  are  out  of  tune,  and  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
only  God  Almighty  could  put  us  to  rights.  It's  thinking  of  hov;  he 
crieved  her  at  last  that  makes  me  so  bitter  with  him.  And  yet  there's 
a  deal  of  good  in  him  !  and  he's  so  quick  and  clever,  if  only  he'd  give 
his  mind  to  things.  Xovr,  you  were  always  slow,  Roger — all  your 
masters  used  to  say  so." 

Roger  laughed  a  little — 

"  Yes  ;  I'd  many  a  nickname  at  school  for  my  slox^Tiess,"  said  he. 

"  Never  mind  !  "  said  the  squire,  consolingly.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't. 
If  you  were  a  clever  fellow  like  Osborne  yonder,  you'd  be  all  for 
caring  for  books  and  writing,  and  you'd  perhaps  find  it  as  dull  as  ho 
does  to  keep  company  with  a  bumpkin-squire  Jones  like  me.  Yet,  I 
daresay,  they  think  a  deal  of  you  at  Cambridge,"  said  he,  after  a 
pause,  "  since  you've  got  this  fine  wranglership ;  I'd  nearly  forgotten 
that — the  news  came  at  such  a  miserable  time." 

"  Well,  yes  !  They're  always  proud  of  the  senior  wrangler  of  the 
jear  up  at  Cambridge.     Next  year  I  must  abdicate." 

The  squire  sat  and  gazed  into  the  embers,  still  holding  his  useless 
pipe-stem.  At  last  he  said,  ia  a  low  voice,  as  if  scarcely  aware  he 
had  got  a  listener, — "  I  used  to  write  to  her  when  she  was  away  in 
London,  and  tell  her  the  home  news.  But  no  letter  will  reach  her 
now  !     Nothing  reaches  her  !  " 

Roger  started  up. 

"Where's  the  tobacco-bo^,  father?  Let  me  fill  j^ou  another 
pipe  !  "  and  when  he  had  done  so,  he  stooped  over  his  father  fend 
stroked  his  cheek.     The  squire  shook  his  head. 

You've  only  just  come  home,  lad.  You  don't  know  me,  as  I  am 
now-a-days  !  Ask  Robinson — I  won't  have  you  asking  Osborne,  ho 
ought  to  keep  it  to  himself — but  any  of  the  servants  will  tell  you  I'm 
not  like  the  same  man  for  getting  into  passions  with  them.  I  used 
to  be  reckoned  a  good  master,  but  that  is  past  now !  Osborne  was 
once  a  little  boy,  and  she  was  once  alive — and  I  was  once  a  good 
master — a  good  master — yes  !     It's  all  past  now." 

He  took  up  his  pipe,  and  began  to  smoke  afresh,  and  Roger,  after 
a  silence  of  some  minutes,  began  a  long  story  about  some  Cambridge 


268  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

man's  misadventure  on  the  huntiug-fielcl,  telling  it  with  sucli  humour 
that  the  squire  was  beguiled  into  hearty  laughing.  "When  they  rose 
to  go  to  bed  his  father  said  to  Roger, — 

"  Well,  we've  had  a  pleasant  evening — at  least,  I  have.  But 
perhaps  you  haven't ;  for  I'm  but  poor  company  now,  I  know." 

"I  don't  know  when  I've  passed  a  happier  evening,  father,"  said 
Roger.  And  he  spoke  truly,  though  he  did  not  trouble  himself  to 
find  out  the  cause  of  his  happiness. 


I 


(     2G9     ) 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

SIRS.    GIBSON'S    LITTLE   DINNER. 

All  this  had  taken  phice  before  Roger's  first  meeting  with  Molly  and 
Cynthia  at  Miss  Browning's ;  and  the  little  dinner  on  the  Friday  at 
Mr.  Gibson's,  which  followed  in  due  sequence. 

Mrs.  Gibson  intended  the  Hamleys  to  find  this  dinner  pleasant ; 
and  they  did.  Mr.  Gibson  was  fond  of  the  two  young  men,  both  for 
their  parent's  sake  and  their  own,  for  he  had  known  them  since  boy- 
hood ;  and  to  those  whom  he  liked  Mr.  Gibson  could  be  remarkably 
agreeable.  Mrs.  Gibson  really  gave  them  a  welcome — and  cordiality 
in  a  hostess  is  a  very  becoming  mantle  for  any  other  deficiencies  there 
may  be.  Cynthia  and  Molly  looked  their  best,  which  was  all  the 
duty  Mrs.  Gibson  absolutely  required  of  them,  as  she  was  wilhng 
enough  to  take  her  full  share  in  the  conversation.  Osborne  fell  to 
her  lot,  of  course,  and  for  some  time  he  and  she  prattled  on  with 
all  the  ease  of  manner  and  commonplaceness  of  meaning  which  go 
far  to  make  the  "  art  of  police  conversation."  Roger,  who  ought  to 
have  made  himself  agreeable  to  one  or  the  other  of  the  young  ladies, 
was  exceedingly  interested  in  what  Mr.  Gibson  was  telling  him  of  a 
paper  on  comparative  osteology  in  some  foreign  journal  of  scieuie, 
which  Lord  Hollingford  was  in  the  habit  of  forwarding  to  his  friend 
the  country  surgeon.  Yet  eveiy  now  and  then  while  he  listened  he 
caught  his  attention  wandering  to  the  face  of  Cynthia,  who  was 
placed  between  his  brother  and  Mr.  Gibson.  She  was  not  particu- 
larly occupied  with  attending  to  anything  that  was  going  on ;  her 
eyelids  were  carelessly  dropped,  as  she  crumbled  her  bread  on  the 
tablecloth,  and  her  beautiful  long  eyelashes  were  seen  on  the  clear 
tint  of  her  oval  cheek.  She  was  thinking  of  something  else  ;  IMolly 
was  trying  to  understand  with  all  her  might.  Suddenly  C}'nthia 
looked  up,  and  caught  Roger's  gaze  of  intent  admiration  too  fully  for 


270  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTEKS. 

her  to  bo  uua,Vv-are  that  he  was  staring  at  her.  She  coh^urecl  a  httle  ; 
Lut,  after  the  first  moment  of  rosy  confusion  at  his  evident  admiration 
CI  her,  she  flew  to  the  attach,  diverting  his  confusion  at  thus  being 
caught,  to  the  defence  of  himself  from  her  accusation. 

"  It  is  quite  true  !  "  she  said  to  him.  "  I  was  not  attending  :  you 
see  I  don't  know  even  the  A  B  G  of  science.  But,  please,  don't  look 
so  severely  at  me,  even  if  I  am  a  dunce  !  " 

*'  I  didn't  know — I  didn't  mean  to  look  severely,  I  am  sure," 
replied  he,  not  knowing  well  what  to  say. 

"Cynthia  is  not  a  dunce  either,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  afraid  lest 
her  daughter's  opinion  of  herself  might  be  taken  seriously.  "  But  I 
have  always  obserA'ed  that  some  people  have  a  talent  for  one  thing 
and  some  for  another.  Now  Gynthia's  talents  are  not  for  science  and 
the  severer  studies.  Do  you  remember,  love,  what  trouble  I  had  to 
teach  you  the  use  of  the  globes  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  I  don't  know  longitude  from  latitude  now;  and  I'm 
always  puzzled  as  to  which  is  perpendicular  and  which  is  horizontal." 

"  Yet,  I  do  assure  you,"  her  mother  continued,  rather  addressing 
herself  to  Osborne,  "  that  her  memory  for  poetry  is  prodigious.  I  have 
heard  her  repeat  the  'Prisoner  of  Ghillon'  from  beginning  to  end." 

"It  would  be  rather  a  bore  to  have  to  hear  her,  I  think,"  said 
Tilr.  Gibson,  smiling  at  Gynthia,  who  gave  him  back  one  of  her  bright 
looks  of  mutual  understanding. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Gibson,  I  have  found  out  before  now  that  you  have  no 
soul  for  poetry ;  and  Molly  there  is  your  own  child.  She  reads  such 
deep  books — all  about  facts  and  figures :  she'll  bo  quite  a  blue- 
stocking by-and-by." 

"Mamma,"  said  Molly,  reddening,  "  j-ou  think  it  was  a  deep 
book  because  there  were  the  shapes  of  the  different  cells  of  bees  in  it ! 
but  it  was  not  at  all  deep.     It  v/as  very  interesting." 

"  Never  mind,  Molly,"  said  Osborne.  "  I  stand  up  for  blue- 
stockings." 

"And  I  object  to  the  distinction  implied  in  what  you  say,"  said 
Soger.  "It  was  not  deep,  cn/o,  it  was  very  interesting.  Now,  a 
book  may  be  both  deep  and  interesting." 

"  Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  chop  logic  and  use  Latin  words,  I  think 
it  is  time  for  us  to  leave  the  room,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson. 

"Don't  let  us  run  away  as  if  we  were  beaten,  mamma,"  said 
Gynthia.  "  Though  it  may  be  logic,  I,  for  one,  can  understand  what 
Mr.  Roger  Hamley  said  just  now  ;  and  I  read  some  of  Molly's  books  ; 


MKS.   GIBSON'S  LITTLE   DIXXER.  271 

anil  whether  it  was  deep  or  not  I  found  it  veiy  interesting — more  so 
than  I  should  think  the  '  Prisoner  of  Chillon '  now-a-days.  I've 
disphaced  the  Prisoner  to  make  room  for  Johnnie  Gilpin  as  my 
fixvourite  poem." 

"How  could  you  talk  such  nonsense,  Cjoithia ! "  said  Mrs. 
Gibson,  as  the  girls  followed  her  upstairs.  "  You  know  you  are  not 
a  dunce.  It  is  all  very  well  not  to  he  a  blue-stocking,  because 
gentle-people  don't  like  that  kind  of  woman ;  hut  running  yourself 
down,  and  contradicting  all  I  said  about  your  liking  for  Cyron,  and 
poets  and  poetry — to  Osborne  Hamley  of  all  men,  too  !  " 

Mrs.  Gibson  spoke  quite  crossly  for  her. 

"  But,  mamma,"  Cynthia  replied,  "  I  am  either  a  dunce,  or  I  am 
not.  If  I  am,  I  did  right  to  own  it  ;  if  I  am  not,  he's  a  dunce  if  he 
doesn't  find  out  I  was  joking." 

"  Yv^ell,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  a  little  puzzled  by  this  speech,  and 
wanting  some  elucidatory  addition. 

"  Only  that  if  he's  a  dunce  his  opinion  of  me  is  worth  nothing. 
So,  any  way,  it  doesn't  signify." 

"You  really  bewilder  me  with  your  nonsense,  child.  Molly  is 
worth  twenty  of  you." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  jon,  mamma,"  said  Cynthia,  turning  round 
to  take  Molly's  hand. 

"Yes;  but  she  ought  not  to  be,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  still  irri- 
tated.    "  Think  of  the  advantages  j'ou've  had." 

"  Vm  afraid  I  had  rather  be  a  dunce  than  a  blue- stocking,"  said 
Molly ;  for  the  term  had  a  little  annoyed  her,  and  the  annoyance  was 
rankling  still. 

"  Hush  ;  here  they  are  coming  :  I  hear  the  dining-room  door !  I 
never  meant  you  were  a  blue-stocking,  dear,  so  don't  look  vexed. — 
Cynthia,  my  love,  where  did  you  get  those  lovely  flowers — anemones, 
are  they  ?     They  suit  your  complexion  so  exactly." 

"  Come,  Molly,  don't  look  so  grave  and  thoughtful,"  exclaimed 
Cynthia.  "  Don't  you  perceive  mamma  wants  us  to  be  smiling  and 
amiable  ?  " 

Mr.  Gibson  had  had  to  go  out  to  his  evening  round ;  and  the 
v'oung  men  were  all  too  glad  to  come  up  into  the  pretty  dratving- 
room  ;  the  bright  little  wood-fire  ;  the  comfortable  easy-chairs  which, 
with  so  small  a  party,  might  be  drawn  round  the  hearth  ;  the  good- 
natured  hostess  ;  the  pretty,  agreeable  girls.  Roger  sauntered  up  to 
the  corner  where  Cynthia  was  standing,  playing  with  a  hand-screen. 


272  WIVES   AND   DAUGIITEES. 

"There  is  a  charity  ball  iu  Hollingford  soon,  isn't  there?" 
asked  he. 

"Yes  ;  on  Easter  Tuesday,"  she  replied. 

"  Are  you  going  ?     I  suppose  you  are  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  mamma  is  going  to  take  Molly  and  mc." 

"  Y^'ou  •will  enjoy  it  very  much — going  together  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  during  this  little  conversation  she  glanced  up 
at  him — ^real  honest  pleasure  shining  out  of  her  eyes. 

"  Yes  ;  going  together  will  make  the  enjoyment  of  the  thing. 
It  -would  be  dull  without  her." 

"  You  are  great  friends,  then'?"  he  asked. 

"I  never  thought  I  should  like  any  one  so  much, — any  girl  I 
mean." 

She  put  in  the  final  reservation  in  all  simplicity  of  heart ;  and  in 
all  simplicity  did  he  understand  it.  He  came  ever  so  little  nearer, 
and  dropped  his  voice  a  little. 

"  I  was  so  anxious  to  know.  I  am  so  glad.  I  have  often  won- 
dered how  you  two  were  getting  on." 

"Have  3'ou  ?  "  said  she,  looking  up  again.  "  At  Cambridge  ? 
You  must  be  very  fond  of  Molly  !  " 

"Yes,  I  am.  She  was  with  us  so  long;  and  at  such  a  time! 
I  look  upon  her  almost  as  a  sister." 

"And  she  is  very  fond  of  all  of  you.  I  seem  to  know  you  all 
from  hearing  her  talk  about  you  so  much." 

"  All  of  you  !  "  said  she,  laying  an  emphasis  on  '  all '  to  show 
that  it  included  the  dead  as  well  as  the  living.  Eoger  was  silent  for 
a  minute  or  two. 

"I  didn't  know  you,  even  by  hearsay.  So  you  mustn't  wonder 
that  I  was  a  little  afraid.  But  as  soon  as  I  saw  you  I  knew  how  it 
must  be  ;  and  it  was  such  a  relief ! "' 

"  Cynthia,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  who  thought  that  the  younger  son 
had  had  quite  his  share  of  low,  confidential  conversation,  "  come 
here,  and  sing  that  little  French  ballad  to  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley." 

"  Which  do  you  mean,  mamma  ?     '  Tu  t'en  repentiras,  Colin  ?'" 

"  Yes  ;  such  a  pretty,  playful  little  warning  to  young  men,"  said 
Mrs.  Gibson,  smiling  up  at  Osborne.     "  The  refrain  is — 

Tu  t'en  repentiras,  Colin, 

Tu  t'en  repentiras, 
Car  si  tu  prcntls  une  fcmmc,  Colin, 

Tu  t'en  repentiras. 


Tu  t'en   eepentikas,    Colin." 


MRS.    GIBSON'S  LITTLE   DINNER.  273 

The  advice  may  apply  very  well  when  there  is  a  French  -wife  in  the 
case  ;  but  not,  I  am  sure,  to  an  Englishman  who  is  thinking  of  an 
English  wife." 

This  choico  of  a  song  was  exceedingly  nud-ajiropox,  had  Mrs. 
Gibson  but  known  it.  Osborne  and  Roger  knowing  that  the  wife  of 
the  former  was  a  Frenchwoman,  and,  conscious  of  each  other's 
knowledge,  felt  doubly  awkward  ;  while  Molly  was  as  much  confused 
as  though  she  herself  were  secretly  married.  However,  Cynthia 
carolled  the  saucy  ditty  out,  and  her  mother  smiled  at  it,  in  total 
ignorance  of  any  application  it  might  have.  Osborne  had  instinctively 
gone  to  stand  behind  Cynthia,  as  she  sate  at  the  piano,  so  as  to  be 
ready  to  turn  over  the  leaves  of  her  music  if  she  ref[uired  it.  He 
kept  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  fingers  ;  his 
countenance  clouded  with  gravity  at  all  the  merry  quips  which  she  so 
playfully  sang,  Roger  looked  grave  as  well,  bi;t  was  much  more  at 
his  ease  than  his  brother ;  indeed,  he  was  half-amused  by  the  awk- 
wardness of  the  situation.  He  caught  Molly's  troubled  eyes  and 
heightened  colour,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  feeling  this  contretemps 
more  seriously  than  she  needed  to  do.  He  moved  to  a  seat  by  her, 
and  half  whispered,  "  Too  late  a  warning,  is  it  not  ?  " 

Molly  looked  up  at  him  as  he  leant  towards  her,  and  replied  in 
the  same  tone — "  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  !  " 

"  You  need  not  be.  He  won't  mind  it  long  ;  and  a  man  muft 
take  the  consequences  when  he  puts  himself  in  a  false  position." 

Molly  could  not  tell  what  to  reply  to  this,  so  she  hung  her  head 
and  kept  silence.  Yet  she  could  see  that  Roger  did  not  change  his 
attitude  or  remove  his  hand  from  the  back  of  his  chair,  and,  impelled 
by  curiosity  to  find  out  the  cause  of  his  stillness,  she  looked  up  at 
him  at  length,  and  saw  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  two  who  were  near  the 
piano.  Osborne  was  saying  something  eagerly  to  Cynthia,  whbse 
grave  eyes  were  upturned  to  him  with  soft  intentness  of  expression, 
and  her  pretty  mouth  half-open,  with  a  sort  of  impatience  for  him  to 
cease  speaking,  that  she  might  reply. 

"  They  arc  talking  about  France,"  said  Roger,  in  answer  to 
Molly's  unspoken  question.  "  Osborne  knows  it  well,  and  Miss 
Ivirkpatrick  has  been  at  school  there,  you  know.  It  sounds  very 
interesting ;  shall  we  go  nearer  and  hear  what  they  are  saying  ?  " 

It  was  all  very  well  to  ask  this  civilly,  but  Molly  thought  it  would 
have  been  better  to  W'ait  for  her  answer.  Instead  of  waiting, 
however,  Roger  went  to  the  piano,  and,  leaning  on  it,  appeared  to 
Vol.  I.  18 


274  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

join  in  the  light  merry  talk,  while  he  feasted  his  eyes  as  much  as  he 
dared  by  looking  at  Cynthia.  Molly  suddenly  felt  as  if  she  could 
scarcely  keep  from  crying — a  minute  ago  he  had  been  so  near  to  her, 
and  talking  so  pleasantly  and  confidentially ;  and  now  he  almost 
seemed  as  if  he  had  forgotten  her  existence.  She  thought  that  all 
this  was  v/rong ;  and  she  exaggerated  its  wrongness  to  herself ; 
"mean,"  and  "envious  of  Cynthia,"  and  "ill-natured,"  and 
"  selfish,"  were  the  terms  she  kept  applying  to  herself;  but  it  did 
no  good,  she  was  just  as  naughty  at  the  last  as  at  the  first. 

Mrs.  Gibson  broke  into  the  state  of  things  which  Molly  thought 
was  to  endure  for  ever.  Her  work  had  been  intricate  up  to  this 
time,  and  had  required  a  great  deal  of  counting ;  so  she  had  had  no 
time  to  attend  to  her  duties,  one  of  which  she  always  took  to  be  to 
show  herself  to  the  world  as  an  impartial  stepmother.  Cynthia  had 
played  and  sung,  and  now  she  must  give  Molly  her  turn  of  exhibition. 
Cynthia's  singing  and  playing  was  light  and  graceful,  but  anything 
but  correct ;  but  she  herself  was  so  charming,  that  it  was  '  only 
fanatics  for  music  who  cared  for  false  chords  and  omitted  notes. 
Molly,  on  the  contrar}',  had  an  excellent  ear,  if  she  had  ever  been 
well  taught;  and  both  from  inclination  and  conscientious  perse- 
verance of  disposition,  she  would  go  over  an  incorrect  passage  for 
twenty  times.  But  she  was  very  shy  of  playing  in  company ;  and 
when  forced  to  do  it,  she  went  through  her  performance  heavily,  and 
hated  her  handiwork  more  than  any  one. 

"  Now,  you  must  play  a  little,  Molly,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson ;  "  play 
us  that  beautiful  piece  of  Kalkbrcnner's,  my  dear." 

Molly  looked  up  at  her  stepmother  with  beseeching  eyes  ;  but  it 
only  brought  out  another  form  of  request,  still  more  like  a  command. 

"Go  at  once,  my  dear.  You  may  not  play  it  quite  rightly  ;  and 
I  know  you  are  very  nervous  ;  but  you're  quite  amongst  friends." 

So  there  was  a  disturbance  made  in  the  little  group  at  the  piano, 
and  Molly  sate  down  to  her  martyrdom. 

"Please,  go  away!"  said  she  to  Osborne,  who  was  standing 
behind  her  ready  to  turn  over.  "  I  can  quite  well  do  it  for  myself. 
And  oh  !  if  you  would  but  talk  !  " 

Osborne  remained  where  he  was  in  spite  of  her  appeal,  and  gave 
her  what  little  approval  she  got ;  for  Mrs.  Gibson,  exhausted  by  her 
previous  labour  of  counting  her  stitches,  fell  asleep  in  her  comfort- 
able sofa-corner  near  the  fire  ;  and  Roger,  who  began  at  first  to  talk 
a  little  in  compliance  with  Molly's  request,  found  his  tete-a-tete  with 


MKS.   GIBSON'S  LITTLE   DINNER.  275 

Cynthia  so  agreeable,  that  Molly  lost  hor  place  several  times  in 
trying  to  catch  a  sudcleu  glimpse  of  Cynthia  sitting  at  her  work,  and 
Roger  by  her,  intent  on  catching  her  low  replies  to  what  he  was 
saying. 

"  There,  now  I've  done  !  "  said  Molly,  standing  up  quickly  as 
soon  as  she  had  finished  the  eighteen  dreary  pages;  "  and  I  think 
I  will  never  sit  down  to  play  again !  " 

Osborne  laughed  at  her  vehemence.  Cynthia  began  to  take 
some  part  in  what  was  being  said,  and  thus  made  the  conversation 
general.  Mrs.  Gibson  wakened  up  gracefully,  as  was  her  way  of 
doing  all  things,  and  slid  into  the  subjects  they  were  talking  about  so 
easily,  that  she  almost  succeeded  in  making  them  believe  she  had 
never  been  asleep  at  all. 


18—2 


(     276     ) 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
HOLLINGFOED  IN  A   BUSTLE. 

All  Hollingford  felt  as  if  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  done  before 
Easter  this  year.  There  was  Easter  proper,  which  always  required 
new  clothing  of  some  hind,  for  fear  of  certain  consequences  from 
little  birds,  who  were  supposed  to  resent  the  impiety  of  those  who  do 
not  wear  some  new  article  of  dress  on  Easter-day.  And  most  ladies 
considered  it  wiser  that  the  little  birds  should  see  the  new  article  for 
themselves,  and  not  have  to  take  it  upon  trust,  as  they  would  have  to 
do  if  it  were  merely  a  pocket-handkerchief,  or  a  petticoat,  or  any 
article  of  under-clothing.  So  piety  demanded  a  new  bonnet,  or  a 
new  gown ;  and  was  barely  satisfied  with  an  Easter  pair  of  gloves. 
Miss  Rose  was  generally  very  busy  just  before  Easter  in  Hollingford. 
Then  this  year  there  was  the  charity  ball.  Ashcombe,  Hollingford, 
and  Coreham  were  three  neighbouring  towns,  of  about  the  same 
number  of  population,  lying  at  the  three  equidistant  corners  of  a 
triangle.  In  imitation  of  greater  cities  with  their  festivals,  these 
three  towns  had  agreed  to  have  an  annual  ball  for  the  benefit  of  the 
county  hospital  to  be  held  in  turn  at  each  place;  and  Hollingford  was 
to  be  the  place  this  year. 

It  was  a  fi.ne  time  for  hospitality,  and  every  house  of  any  preten- 
sion was  as  full  as  it  could  hold,  and  %s  were  engaged  long  months 
before. 

If  Mrs.  Gibson  could  have  asked  Osborne,  or  in  default,  Roger 
Hamlcy  to  go  to  the  ball  Avith  them  and  to  sleep  at  their  house, — or 
if,  indeed,  she  could  have  picked  up  any  stray  scion  of  a  "  county 
family"  to  whom  such  an  ofler  would  have  been  a  convenience,  she 
would  have  restored  her  own  dressing-room  to  its  former  use  as  the 
spare-room,  with  pleasure.  But  she  did  not  think  it  was  worth  her 
while  to  put  herself  out  for  any  of  the  humdrum  and  ill- dressed  women 


HOLLINGFORD  IN  A  BUSTLE.  277 

who  liacl  bcea  her  former  acquaintances  at  Ashcombe.  For  Mr.  Preston 
it  might  have  been  worth  while  to  give  up  her  room,  consiclcriug  him 
in  the  light  of  a  handsome  ami  prosperous  j'oung  man,  ami  a  good 
dancer  besides.  But  there  were  more  lights  in  which  he  was  to  be 
viewed.  Mr.  Gibson,  who  really  wanted  to  return  the  hospitality 
sho'wn  to  him  by  Mr.  Preston  at  the  time  of  his  marriage,  had  yet  an 
instinctive  distaste  to  the  man,  which  no  wish  of  freeing  himself  from 
obligation,  nor  even  the  more  worthy  feehng  of  hospitality,  could 
overcome.  Mrs.  Gibson  had  some  old  grudges  of  her  own  against 
him,  but  she  was  not  one  to  retain  angry  feelings,  or  be  very  active 
in  her  retahation ;  she  was  afraid  of  Mr.  Preston,  and  admired  him 
at  the  same  time.  It  was  awkward  too — so  she  said — to  go  into  a 
ball-room  without  any  gentleman  at  all,  and  Mr.  Gibson  was  so 
uncertain  !  On  the  whole — partly  for  this  last-given  reason,  and 
partly  because  conciliation  was  the  best  policy,  Mrs.  Gibson  vras 
slightly  in  favour  of  inviting  Mr.  Preston  to  be  their  guest.  But  as 
soon  as  Cynthia  heard  the  question  discussed — or  rather,  as  soon  as 
she  heard  it  discussed  in  Mr.  Gibson's  absence,  she  said  that  if 
Mr.  Preston  came  to  be  their  visitor  on  the  occasion,  she  for  one 
would  not  go  to  the  ball  at  all.  She  did  not  speak  with  vehemence 
or  in  anger  ;  but  with  such  quiet  resolution  that  Molly  looked  up  in 
suq)rise.  She  saw  that  Cynthia  was  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  on  her 
work,  and  that  she  had  no  intention  of  meeting  any  one's  gaze,  or 
giving  any  further  explanation.  Mrs.  Gibson,  too,  looked  perplexed, 
and  once  or  twice  seemed  on  the  point  of  asking  some  question  ;  but 
she  was  not  angry  as  Molly  had  fully  expected.  She  watched  Cynthia 
furtively  and  in  silence  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  said  that,  after 
all,  she  could  not  conveniently  give  up  her  dressing-room ;  and,  alto- 
gether, they  had  better  say  no  more  about  it.  So  no  stranger  was 
invited  to  stay  at  Mr.  Gibson's  at  the  time  of  the  ball ;  but  Mrs.  Gibson 
openly  spoke  of  her  regi-et  at  the  unavoidable  inhospitality,  and 
hoped  that  they  might  be  able  to  build  an  addition  to  their  house 
before  the  next  triennial  HoUingford  ball. 

Another  cause  of  unusual  bustle  at  HoUingford  this  Easter  was 
the  expected  return  of  the  family  to  the  Towers,  after  their  unusually 
long  absence.  Mr.  Sheepshanks  might  be  seen  trotting  up  and  do\Mi 
on  his  stout  old  cob,  speaking  to  attentive  masons,  plasterers,  and 
glaziers  about  putting  everything — on  the  outside  at  least— about  the 
cottages  belonging  to  "  my  lord,"  in  perfect  repau".  Lord  Cumnor 
■owned  the  greater  part  of  the  town  ;  and  those  who  lived  under  other 


278  ^VIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

landlords,  or  in  houses  of  their  own,  were  stirred  up  by  the  dread  of 
contrast  to  do  up  their  dwellings.  So  the  ladders  of  whitewashers 
and  painters  were  sadly  in  the  way  of  the  ladies  tripping  daintily 
along  to  make  their  purchases,  and  holding  their  gowns  up  in  a 
Lunch  behind,  after  a  fashion  quite  gone  out  in  these  days.  The 
housekeeper  and  steward  from  the  Towers  might  also  be  seen  coming 
in  to  give  orders  at  the  various  shops ;  and  stopping  here  and  there 
at  those  kept  by  favourites,  to  avail  themselves  of  the  eagerly- 
tendered  refreshments. 

Lady  Harriet  came  to  call  on  her  old  governess  the  day  after  the 
arrival  of  the  family  at  the  Towers.  IMolly  and  Cjmthia  were  out 
walking  when  she  came — doing  some  errands  for  Mrs.  Gibson,  who 
had  a  secret  idea  that  Lady  Harriet  would  call  at  the  particular  time 
she  did,  and  had  a  not  ujicommon  wish  to  talk  to  her  ladyship 
without  the  corrective  presence  of  any  member  of  her  own  family. 

]Mrs.  Gibson  did  not  give  Molly  the  message  of  remembrance 
that  Lady  Harriet  had  left  for  her ;  but  she  imparted  various  pieces 
of  news  relating  to  the  Towers  with  great  animation  and  interest.  The 
Duchess  of  Menteith  and  her  daughter,  Lady  Alice,  were  coming  to  the 
Towers;  would  be  there  the  day  of  the  ball ;  would  come  to  the  ball ; 
and  the  Menteith  diamonds  were  famous.  That  was  piece  of  news  the 
first.  The  second  was  that  ever  so  many  gentlemen  were  coming  to  the 
Towers — some  English,  some  French.  This  piece  of  news  would  have 
come  first  in  order  of  importance  had  there  been  much  probability 
of  their  being  dancing  men,  and,  as  such,  possible  partners  at  the 
coming  ball.  But  Lady  Harriet  had  spoken  of  them  as  Lord  Hol- 
iingford's  friends,  useless  scientific  men  in  all  probability.  Then, 
finally,  Mvs.  Gibson  was  to  go  to  the  Towers  next  day  to  lunch  ; 
Lady  Cumnor  had  written  a  little  note  by  Lady  Harriet  to  beg  her 
to  come  ;  if  Mrs.  Gibson  could  manage  to  find  her  way  to  the  Towers, 
one  of  the  carriages  in  use  should  bring  her  back  to  her  own  home 
in  the  course  of  the  afternoon. 

"  The  dear  countess  ! "  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  with  soft  aflection.  It 
was  a  soliloquy,  uttered  after  a  minute's  pause,  at  the  end  of  all  this 
information. 

And  all  the  rest  of  that  day  her  conversation  had  an  aristocratic 
perfume  hanging  about  it.  One  of  the  few  books  she  had  brought 
with  her  into  Mr.  Gibson's  house  was  bound  in  pink,  and  in  it  she 
studied,  "  Menteith,  Duke  of,  Adolphus  George,"  &c.,  &c.,  till  she 
was  fully  up  in  all  the  duchess's  connections,  and  probable  interests. 


HOLLINGFORD   IN  A  BUSTLE.  279 

Mr.  Gibson  made  his  mouth  up  into  a  tlroll  whistio  "n-hen  he  came 
home  at  night,  and  found  himself  in  a  Towers'  atmosphere.  Molly 
saw  the  shade  of  annoj'ance  through  the  drolleiy  ;  she  was  beginning 
to  see  it  ofteuer  than  she  liked,  not  that  she  reasoned  upon  it,  or 
that  she  consciously  traced  the  annoyance  to  its  source ;  but  she 
could  not  help  feeling  uneasy  in  herself  when  she  knew  that  her 
father  was  in  the  least  put  out. 

Of  course  a  fly  was  ordered  for  Mrs.  Gibson.  In  the  early  after- 
noon she  came  home.  If  she  had  been  disappointed  in  her  intemew 
•with  the  countess  she  never  told  her  woe,  nor  revealed  the  fact  that 
when  she  first  arrived  at  the  Towers  she  had  to  wait  for  an  hour  in 
Lady  Cumnor's  morning-room,  uncheered  by  any  companionship  save 
that  of  her  old  friend,  Mrs.  Bradley,  till  suddenly.  Lady  Harriet 
coming  in,  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  Clare!  you  dear  woman!  are 
you  here  all  alone?  Does  mamma  know?"  And,  after  a  little 
more  affectionate  conversation,  she  rushed  to  find  her  ladyship,  who 
was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact,  but  too  deep  in  giving  the  duchess  the 
benefit  of  her  wisdom  and  experience  in  trousseaux  to  be  at  all  mindful 
of  the  length  of  time  Mrs.  Gibson  had  been  passing  in  patient  soli- 
tude. At  lunch  Mrs.  Gibson  was  secretly  hurt  by  my  lord's  supposinfy 
it^  to  be  her  dinner,  and  calling  out  his  urgent  hospitality  from  the 
very  bottom  of  the  table,  giving  as  a  reason  for  it,  that  she  must 
remember  it  was  her  dinner.  In  vaiu  she  piped  out  in  her  soft,  high 
voice,  "  Oh,  my  lord !  I  never  eat  meat  in  the  middle  of  the  day ;  I 
can  hardly  eat  anything  at  lunch."  Her  voice  was  lost,  and  the 
duchess  might  go  away  with  the  idea  that  the  Hollingford  doctor's 
wife  dined  early  ;  that  is  to  say,  if  her  grace  ever  condescended  to 
have  any  idea  on  the  subject  at  all ;  which  presupposes  that  she 
was  cognizant  of  the  fact  of  there  being  a  doctor  at  Hollingford,  and 
that  he  had  a  Vvife,  and  that  his  wife  was  the  pretty,  faded,  elegant- 
looking  woman,  sending  away  her  plate  of  uutasted  food — food  which 
she  longed  to  eat,  for  she  was  really  desperately  hungry  after  her 
drive  and  her  solitude. 

And  then  after  lunch  there  did  come  a  tete-a-tete  with  Lady 
Cumnor,  which  was  conducted  after  this  wise  : — 

"  Well,  Clare  !  I  am  really  glad  to  see  you.  I  once  thought  I 
should  never  get  back  to  the  Towers,  but  here  I  am  !  There  was  such 
a  clever  man  at  Bath — a  Doctor  Snape — he  cured  me  at  last — quite 
set  me  up.  I  really  think  if  ever  I  am  ill  again  I  shall  send  for  him  : 
it  is  such  a  thing  to  find  a  really  clever  medical  man.     Oh,  by  the 


280  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

way,  I  always  forget  you've  marrietl  Mr.  Gibson — of  course  he  is  very 
clever,  and  all  that.  (The  carriage  to  the  door  in  ten  minutes, 
Brown,  and  desire  Bradley  to  bring  my  things  down.)  What  was  I 
asking  you  ?  Oh  !  how  do  you  get  on  with  the  stepdaughter  ?  She 
seemed  to  me  to  bo  a  young  lady  with  a  pretty  stubborn  will  of  her 
own.  I  put  a  letter  for  the  post  down  somewhere,  and  I  cannot 
think  where  ;  do  help  me  look  for  it,  there's  a  good  woman.  Just 
run  to  my  room,  and  see  if  Brown  can  find  it,  for  it  is  of  great  con- 
sequence. 

Oil  went  Mrs.  Gibson,  rather  unwillingly  ;  for  there  were  several 
things  she  wanted  to  speak  about,  and  she  had  not  heard  half  of  what 
she  had  expected  to  learn  of  the  family  gossip.  But  all  chance  was 
gone ;  for  when  she  came  back  from  her  fruitless  errand.  Lady 
Cumnor  and  the  duchess  were  in  full  talk,  the  former  with  the  missing 
letter  in  her  hand,  which  she  was  using  something  like  a  baton  to 
enforce  her  words. 

"  Every  iota  from  Paris  !     Every  i-o-ta  ! " 

Lady  Cumnor  was  too  much  of  a  lady  not  to  apologize  for  useless 
trouble,  but  they  were  nearly  the  last  words  she  spoke  to  Mrs.  Gibson, 
for  she  had  to  go  out  and  drive  with  the  duchess  ;  and  the  brougham 
to  take  "  Clare  "  (as  she  persisted  in  calling  Mrs.  Gibson)  back  to 
Holiingford  followed  the  carriage  to  the  door.  Lady  Harriet  came 
away  from  her  entourage  of  young  men  and  young  ladies,  all  prepared 
for  some  walking  expedition,  to  wish  Mrs.  Gibson  good-by. 

"  We  shall  see  you  at  the  ball,"  she  said.  **  You'll  be  there  with 
your  two  girls,  of  course,  and  I  must  have  a  little  talk  with  you 
there ;  with  all  these  visitors  in  the  house,  it  has  been  impossible  to 
see  anything  of  you  to-day,  you  know." 

Such  were  the  facts,  but  rose-colour  was  the  medium  through 
which  they  were  seen  by  Mrs.  Gibson's  household  listeners  on  her 
return. 

'•  There  are  many  visitors  staying  at  the  Towers — oh,  yes !  a 
great  many  :  the  duchess  and  Lady  Alice,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grey, 
and  Lord  Albert  Monson  and  his  sister,  and  my  old  friend  Captain 
James  of  the  Blues — many  more,  in  fact.  But  of  course  I  preferred 
going  to  Lady  Cumnor's  own  room,  where  I  could  see  her  and  Lady 
Harriet  quietly,  and  where  we  were  not  disturbed  by  the  bustle 
downstairs.  Of  course  we  were  obliged  to  go  down  to  lunch,  and 
then  I  saw  my  old  friends,  and  renewed  pleasant  acquaintances.  But 
I  really  could  hardly  get  any  connected  conversation  with  any  one. 


HOLLINGFORD  IN   A  BUSTLE.  281 

Lord  Cumnor  seemed  so  deliglited  to  see  me  there  again :  tliough 
there  were  six  or  seven  between  ns,  he  was  always  interrupting  with 
some  civil  or  kind  speech  especially  addressed  to  me.  And  after 
lunch  Lady  Cumnor  asked  me  all  sorts  of  questions  about  my  new 
life  with  as  much  interest  as  if  I  had  been  her  daughter.  To  be 
sure,  when  the  duchess  came  in  we  had  to  leave  off,  and  talk  about 
the  trousseau  she  is  preparing  for  Lady  Alice.  Lady  Harriet  made 
such  a  point  of  our  meeting  at  the  ball ;  she  is  euch  a  good,  affec- 
tionate creature,  is  Lady  Harriet ! " 

This  last  was  said  in  a  tone  of  meditative  appreciation. 

The  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  the  ball  was  to  take  place,  a 
servant  rode  over  from  Hamley  with  two  lovely  nosegays,  "  with  the 
Mr.  Hamleys'  compliments  to  Miss  Gibson  and  Miss  Kirkpatrick." 
Cynthia  was  the  first  to  receive  them.  She  came  dancing  into  the 
drawing-room,  flourishing  the  flowers  about  in  either  hand,  and 
danced  up  to  Molly,  who  was  trying  to  settle  to  her  reading,  by  way 
of  helping  on  the  time  till  the  evening  came. 

"  Look,  Molly,  look  !  Here  are  bouquets  for  us  !  Long  life  to 
the  givers  !" 

"Who  are  they  from?"  asked  Molly,  taking  hold  of  one,  and 
examining  it  with  tender  delight  at  its  beauty. 

"  Who  from?  Why,  the  two  paragons  of  Hamleys,  to  be  sure! 
Isn't  it  a  pretty  attention  ?  " 

"  How  kind  of  them  ! "  said  Molly. 

"  I'm  sure  it  is  Osborne  who  thought  of  it.  He  has  been  so 
much  abroad,  where  it  is  such  a  common  compliment  to  send  bouquets 
to  young  ladies." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  think  it  is  Osborne's  thought  !  " 
said  Molly,  reddening  a  little.  "  Mr.  Roger  Hamley  used  to 
gather  nosegays  constantly  for  his  mother,  and  sometimes  for 
me." 

"  W^ell,  never  mind  whose  thought  it  was,  or  who  gathered  them; 
we've  got  the  flowers,  and  that's  enough.  Molly,  I'm  sure  these 
red  flowers  will  just  match  your  coral  necklace  and  bracelets,"  said 
Cynthia,  pulling  out  some  camellias,  then  a  rare  kind  of  flower. 

"  Oh,  please,  don't!"  exclaimed  Molly.  "Don't  you  see  how 
carefully  the  colours  are  arranged — they  have  taken  such  pains ; 
please,  don't." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Cynthia,  continuing  to  pull  them  out ;  "  see, 
here  are  quite  enough.     I'll  make  you  a  little  coronet  of  them — 


282  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

sewn  on  black  velvet,  •which  will  never  be  seen — just  as  they  do  in 
France ! " 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry !     It  is  quite  spoilt,"  said  Molly. 

"  Never  mind  !  I'll  take  this  spoilt  bouquet ;  I  can  make  it  up 
again  just  as  prettily  as  ever ;  and  you  shall  have  this,  which  has 
never  been  touched."  Cynthia  went  on  arranging  the  crimson  buds 
and  flowers  to  her  taste.  Molly  said  nothing,  but  kept  watching 
Cynthia's  nimble  fingers  tying  up  the  wreath. 

"There,"  said  Cynthia,  at  last,  "when  that  is  sewn  on  black 
velvet,  to  keep  the  flowers  from  dying,  you'll  see  how  pretty  it  will 
look.  And  there  are  enough  red  flowers  in  this  untouched  nosegay 
to  carry  out  the  idea  !  " 

"  Thank  you  "  (very  slowly).  "  But  sha'n't  you  mind  having 
only  the  wrecks  of  the  other  ?  " 

"  Not  I ;  red  flowers  would  not  go  with  my  pink  dress." 

"  But — I  daresay  they  arranged  each  nosegay  so  carefully  !  " 

"  Perhaps  they  did.  But  I  never  would  allow  sentiment  to  in- 
terfere with  my  choice  of  colours  ;  and  pink  does  tie  one  down. 
Now  3'ou,  in  white  musliu,  just  tipped  with  crimson,  like  a  daisy, 
may  wear  anything." 

Cynthia  took  the  utmost  pains  in  dressing  Molly,  leaving  the 
clever  housemaid  to  her  mother's  exclusive  service.  Mrs.  Gibson 
was  more  anxious  about  her  attire  than  was  either  of  the  girls  ;  it 
had  given  her  occasion  for  deep  thought  and  not  a  few  sighs.  Her 
deliberation  had  ended  in  her  wearing  her  pearl-grey  satin  wedding- 
gown,  with  a  profusion  of  lace,  and  white  and  coloured  lilacs.  Cyn- 
thia was  the  one  who  took  the  aflair  most  lightly.  Molly  looked 
upon  the  ceremony  of  dressing  for  a  first  ball  as  rather  a  serious 
ceremony  ;  certainly  as  an  anxious  proceeding.  Cynthia  was  almost 
as  anxious  as  herself;  only  Molly  wanted  her  appearance  to  be 
correct  and  unnoticed ;  and  Cynthia  was  desirous  of  setting  ofi* 
Molly's  rather  peculiar  charms — her  cream-coloured  skin,  her  pro- 
fusion of  curly  black  hair,  her  beautiful  long-shaped  eyes,  with  their 
shy,  loving  expression.  Cynthia  took  up  so  much  time  in  dressing 
Molly  to  her  mind,  that  she  herself  had  to  perform  her  toilette  in  a 
hurry.  BloUy,  ready  dressed,  sate  on  a  low  chair  in  Cynthia's  room, 
watching  the  pretty  creature's  rapid  movements,  as  she  stood  in  her 
petticoat  before  the  glass,  doing  up  her  hair,  with  quick  certainty  of 
eflect.     At  length,  Molly  heaved  a  long  sigh,  and  said, — 

"  I  should  like  to  be  pretty  !  " 


IIOLLINGFORD  IN  A  BUSTLE.  283 

'*  Why,  Molly,"  said  Cyntliia,  turning  round  with  an  exclamation 
on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  ;  but  -wlaen  she  caught  the  innocent,  -wistful 
look  on  Molly's  face,  she  instinctively  checked  what  she  was  going  to 
say,  and,  half-smiling  to  her  o^vn  reflection  in  the  glass,  she  said, — 
"  The  French  girls  would  tell  you,  to  believe  that  you  were  pretty 
•would  make  you  so." 

Molly  paused  before  replying, — 

"  I  suppose  they  would  mean  that  if  you  knew  you  were  pretty, 
you  would  never  think  about  your  looks  ;  you  would  bo  so  certain  of 
being  liked,  and  that  it  is  caring " 

"  Listen  !  that's  eight  o'clock  striking.  Don't  trouble  yourself 
with  trying  to  interpret  a  French  girl's  meaning,  but  help  me  on 
with  my  frock,  there's  a  dear  one." 

The  two  girls  were  dressed,  and  standing  over  the  fire  waiting  for 
the  carriage  in  Cynthia's  room,  when  Maria  (Betty's  successor)  came 
hurrj-ing  into  the  room.  Maria  had  been  officiating  as  maid  to 
Mrs.  Gibson,  but  she  had  had  intervals  of  leisure,  in  which  she  had 
rushed  upstairs,  and,  under  the  pretence  of  offering  her  seiwices,  had 
seen  the  young  ladies  dresses,  and  the  sight  of  so  many  nice  clothes 
had  sent  her  into  a  state  of  excitement  which  made  her  think  nothing 
of  rushing  upstairs  for  the  twentieth  time,  with  a  nosegay  still  more 
beautiful  than  the  two  previous  ones. 

"Here,  Miss  Ivirkpatrick !  No,  it's  not  for  you,  miss!"  as 
Molly,  being  nearer  to  the  door,  offered  to  take  it  and  pass  it  to 
■Cynthia.  "It's  for  Miss  Kirkpatrick  ;  and  there's  a  note  for  her 
besides !  " 

Cynthia  said  nothing,  but  took  the  note  and  the  flowers.  Sho 
held  the  note  so  that  Molly  could  read  it  at  the  same  time  she  did. 

"  I  send  you  some  flowers ;  and  you  must  allow  me  to  claim  t^ie 
first  dance  after  nine  o'clock,  before  which  time  I  fear  I  cannot 
arrive. 

"C.  P." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Molly. 

Cynthia  looked  extremely  irritated,  indignant,  pei^jlexed — what 
was  it  turned  her  cheek  so  pale,  and  made  her  eyes  so  full  of  fire  '? 

"  It  is  Mr.  Preston,"  said  she,  in  aiiswer  to  Molly.  "  I  shall 
not  dance  with  him ;  and  here  go  his  flowers — " 

Into  the  xery  middle  of  the  embers,  vrhich  she  immediately  stirred 
down  upon  the  beautiful  shining  petals  as  if  she  wished  to  annihilate 


284  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

tbem  as  soon  as  possible.  Her  voice  had  never  been  raised ;  it  was 
as  sweet  as  usual ;  nor,  though  her  movements  were  prompt  enough, 
were  they  hasty  or  violent. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Molly,  "  those  beautiful  flowers  !  We  might  have 
put  them  in  water." 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia  ;  "  it's  best  to  destroy  them.  We  don't 
want  them  ;  and  I  can't  bear  'to  bo  reminded  of  that  man." 

"  It  was  an  impertinent  familiar  note,"  said  Molly.  "  What 
right  had  he  to  express  himself  in  that  way — no  beginning,  no  end, 
and  only  initials  !  Did  you  know  him  well  when  you  were  at  Ash- 
combe,  Cynthia?" 

"  Oh,  don't  let  us  think  any  more  about  him,"  replied  Cj-nthia. 
"It  is  quite  enough  to  spoil  any  pleasure  at  the  ball  to  think  that  he 
will  be  there.  But  I  hope  I  shall  get  engaged  before  he  comes,  so 
that  I  can't  dance  with  him — and  don't  you,  cither ! " 

"  There  !  they  are  calling  for  us,"  exclaimed  Molly,  and  with 
quick  stop,  yet  careful  of  then*  draperies,  they  made  their  way  down- 
stairs to  the  place  where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gibson  awaited  them.  Yes ; 
Mr.  Gibson  was  going, — even  if  he  had  to  leave  them  afterwards  to 
attend  to  any  professional  call.  And  Molly  suddenly  began  to  admire 
her  father  as  a  handsome  man,  w}ien  she  saw  him  now,  in  full  even- 
ing attire.  Mrs.  Gibson,  too — how  pretty  she  was  !  In  short,  it 
was  true  that  no  better-looking  a  party  than  these  four  people  entered 
the  HoUingford  ball-room  that  evening. 


(    285     ) 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    CHARITY    BALL. 

At  the  present  time  there  are  few  people  at  a  public  ball  besides  the 
(lancers  and  their  chaperones,  or  relations  in  some  degree  interested 
in  them.  But  in  the  days  when  Molly  and  Cynthia  were  young — 
before  railroads  were,  and  before  their  consequences,  the  excursion- 
trains,  which  take  every  one  up  to  London  noAV-a-days,  there  to  see 
their  fill  of  gay  crowds  and  fine  dresses — to  go  to  an  annual  charity- 
ball,  even  though  all  thought  of  dancing  had  passed  by  years  ago, 
and  without  any  of  the  responsibilities  of  a  chaperone,  v/as  a  very 
allowable  and  favourite  piece  of  dissipation  to  all  the  kindly  old 
maids  who  thronged  the  country  towns  of  England.  They  aired 
their  old  lace  and  their  best  dresses  ;  they  saw  the  aristocratic  mag- 
nates of  the  country  side ;  they  gossipped  with  their  coevals,  and 
speculated  on  the  romances  of  the  young  around  them  in  a  curious 
yet  friendly  spirit.  The  Miss  Brownings  would  have  thought  them- 
selves sadly  defrauded  of  the  gayest  event  of  the  year,  if  anything 
had  prevented  their  attending  the  charity  ball,  and  Miss  Bro^\•uiug 
would  have  been  indignant,  Miss  Phoebe  aggrieved,  had  they  not 
been  asked  to  Ashcombe  and  Coreham,  by  friends  at  each  place,  who 
had,  like  them,  gone  through  the  dancing-stage  of  life  some  five-and- 
twenty  years  before,  but  who  liked  still  to  haunt  the  scenes  of  their 
former  enjoyment,  and  see  a  younger  generation  dance  on  "  regard- 
less of  their  doom."  They  had  come  in  one  of  the  two  sedan-chairs 
that  yet  lingered  in  use  at  Hollingford ;  such  a  night  as  this  brought 
a  regular  harvest  of  gains  to  the  two  old  men  who,  in  what  was 
called  the  "  town's  livery,"  trotted  backwards  and  forwards  with 
their  many  loads  of  ladies  and  finery.  There  were  some  postchaiscs, 
and  some  "  flys,"  but  after  mature  deliberation  Miss  Browning  had 
decided  to  keep  to  the  more  comfortable  custom  of  the  sedau-chaii- ; 


286  WIVES  AXD  DAUGUTERS. 

*'  wMcli,"  as  she  said  to  Miss  Piper,  one  of  lier  visitors,  "  came  into 
the  parlour,  and  got  full  of  the  warm  air,  and  nipped  you  up,  and 
carried  you  tight  and  cosy  into  another  warm  room,  where  you  could 
walk  out  without  having  to  show  your  legs  by  going  up  steps,  or 
down  steps."  Of  course  only  one  could  go  at  a  time  ;  but  hero 
again  a  little  of  Miss  Browning's  good  management  arranged  every- 
thing so  very  nicely,  as  Miss  Hornhlower  (their  other  visitor)  re- 
marked. She  went  first,  and  remained  in  the  warm  cloak-room 
until  her  hostess  followed ;  and  then  the  two  ladies  went  arm-in-arm 
into  the  ball-room,  finding  out  convenient  seats  whence  they  could 
watch  the  arrivals  and  speak  to  their  passing  friends,  until  Miss 
Phoebe  and  Miss  Piper  entered,  and  came  to  take  possession  of  the 
seats  reserved  for  them  by  Miss  Browning's  care.  These  two 
younger  ladies  came  in,  also  arm-in-arm,  but  with  a  certain  timid 
flurry  in  look  and  movement  very  different  from  the  composed 
dignity  of  their  seniors  (by  two  or  three  years).  When  all  four 
were  once  more  assembled  together,  they  took  breath,  and  began  to 
converse. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  really  do  think  this  is  a  better  room  than  our 
Ashcombe  Court-house ! " 

"And  how  prettily  it  is  decorated!"  piped  out  Miss  Piper. 
"  How  well  the  roses  are  made  !  But  you  all  have  such  a  taste  at 
Hollingford." 

"There's  Mrs.  Dempster,"  cried  Miss  Hornhlower;  "she  said 
she  and  her  two  daughters  were  asked  to  stay  at  Mr.  Sheepshanks'. 
Mr.  Preston  was  to  be  there,  too  ;  but  I  suppose  they  could  not  all 
come  at  once.  Look  !  and  there  is  young  Pioscoe,  our  nev/  doctor. 
I  declare  it  seems  as  if  all  Ashcombo  were  here.  Mr.  Eoscoe  I 
Mr.  Roscoe !  come  here  and  let  me  introduce  you  to  Miss  Browning, 
the  friend  we  are  staying  with.  We  think  very  highly  of  our  young 
doctor,  I  can  assure  you,  Miss  Browning." 

Mr.  Roscoe  bowed,  and  simpered  at  hearing  his  own  praises. 
But  Miss  Browning  had  no  notion  of  having  any  doctor  praised,  who 
had  come  to  settle  on  the  very  verge  of  Mr.  Gibson's  practice,  so  she 
said  to  Miss  Hornhlower, — 

"  You  must  be  glad,  I  am  sure,  to  have  somebody  you  can  call 
in,  if  you  are  in  any  sudden  hurry,  or  for  things  that  are  too  trifling 
to  trouble  Mr.  Gibson  about ;  and  I  should  think  Mr.  Pioscoe  would 
feel  it  a  great  advantage  to  profit,  as  he  will  naturally  have  the 
opportunity  of  doing,  by  witnessing  Mr.  Gibson's  skill ! " 


A  CHARITY   BALL.  287 

Probably  IMr.  Eoscoo  would  have  felt  more  aggrieved  by  this 
speech  than  he  really  was,  if  his  attention  had  not  been  called  off 
just  then  by  the  entrance  of  the  verj'  Mr,  Gibson  who  was  being 
spoken  of.  Almost  before  Miss  Browning  had  ended  her  severe  and 
depreciatory  remarks,  he  had  asked  his  friend  Miss  Hornblovrer, — 

"  Who  is  that  lovely  girl  in  pink,  just  come  in  ?  " 

"  Why,  that's  Cynthia  Kirkpatrick  ! "  said  Miss  Hornblower, 
taking  up  a  ponderous  gold  eyeglass  to  make  sure  of  her  fact.  "  How 
she  has  grown  !  To  be  sure  it  is  two  or  three  years  since  she  left 
Ashcombe — she  was  very  pretty  then — people  did  say  Mr.  Preston 
admired  her  veiy  much ;  but  she  was  so  young  ! " 

"  Can  you  introduce  me  ?  "  asked  the  impatient  j'oung  surgeon. 
*'  I  should  like  to  ask  her  to  dance." 

When  Miss  Hornblower  returned  from  her  greeting  to  her  former 
acquaintance,  Mrs.  Gibson,  and  had  [acomplished  the  introduction 
which  Mr.  Ptoscoe  had  requested,  she  began  her  little  confidences  to 
Miss  Browning. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure  !  How  condescending  we  are  !  I  remember 
the  time  when  'Mis.  Kirkpatrick  wore  old  black  silks,  and  was 
thankful  and  civil  as  became  her  place  as  a  schoolmistress,  and  as 
having  to  earn  her  bread.  And  now  she  is  in  a  satin ;  and  she 
speaks  to  me  as  if  she  just  could  recollect  who  I  was,  if  she  tried 
very  hard  !  It  isn't  so  long  ago  since  Mrs.  Dempster  came  to  consult 
me  as  to  whether  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  would  be  offended,  if  she  sent 
her  a  new  breadth  for  her  lilac  silk -gown,  in  place  of  one  that  had 
been  spoilt  by  Mrs.  Dempster's  servant  spilling  the  coffee  over  it 
the  night  before ;  and  she  took  it  and  was  thankful,  for  all  she's 
dressed  in  pearl-grey  satin  now !  And  she  would  have  been  glad 
enough  to  marry  Mr.  Preston  in  those  days." 

"  I  thought  you  said  he  admired  her  daughter,"  put  in  Miss 
Bro^\'ning  to  her  irritated  friend. 

*'  Well !  perhaps  I  did,  and  perhaps  it  was  so ;  I  am  sure  I  can't 
tell ;  he  was  a  great  deal  at  the  house.  Miss  Dixon  keeps  a  school 
in  the  same  house  now,  and  I  am  sure  she  does  it  a  gi-eat  deal 
better." 

"  The  earl  and  the  countess  are  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Gibson,"  said 
Miss  Browning,  "  I  know,  for  Lady  Harriet  told  us  when  she  came 
to  drink  tea  with  us  last  autumn ;  and  they  desired  Mr,  Preston  to 
be  very  attentive  to  her  when  she  lived  at  Ashcombe." 

"  For  goodness'  sake  don't  go  and  repeat  ^hat  I've  been  saying 


288  ^VIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

about  Mr.  Preston  and  Mrs.  Ivirkpatrick  to  lier  ladyship.  One  may 
be  mistaken,  and  you  know  I  only  said  *  people  talked  about  it.' " 

Miss  Hornblower  was  evidently  alarmed  lest  her  gossip  should 
be  repeated  to  the  Lady  Harriet,  who  appeared  to  be  on  such  an 
intimate  footing  with  her  Holliugford  friends.  Nor  did  Miss  Browning 
dissipate  the  illusion.  Lady  Harriet  had  drunk  tea  with  them,  and 
might  do  it  again ;  and,  at  any  rate,  the  little  fright  she  had  put 
her  friend  into  was  not  a  bad  return  for  that  praise  of  Mr.  Roscoe, 
which  had  offended  Miss  Browning's  loyalty  to  Mr.  Gibson. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Piper  and  Miss  Pho3be,  who  had  not  the  character 
of  csprit-forts  to  maintain,  talked  of  the  dresses  of  the  people  present, 
beginning  by  complimenting  each  other. 

"  What  a  lovely  turban  you  have  got  on,  Miss  Piper,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  say  so  :  so  becoming  to  your  complexion  ! " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  Miss  Piper,  with  ill-concealed  gratifi- 
cation ;  it  was  something  to  have  a  "  complexion  "  at  forty-five.  "  I 
got  it  at  Brown's,  at  Somertou,  for  this  veiy  ball.  I  thought  I  must 
have  something  to  set  oft'  my  gown,  which  isn't  quite  so  new  as  it 
once  was  ;  and  I  have  no  handsome  jewellery  like  you  " — looking 
with  admiring  eyes  at  a  large  miniature  set  round  with  pearls,  which 
served  as  a  shield  to  Miss  Phoebe's  breast. 

"  It  is  handsome,"  that  lady  replied.  "It  is  a  likeness  of  my 
dear  mother  ;  Dorothy  has  got  my  father  on.  The  miniatures  were 
both  taken  at  the  same  time ;  and  just  about  then  my  uncle  died  and 
left  us  each  a  legacy  of  fifty  pounds,  which  we  agreed  to  spend  on 
the  setting  of  our  miniatures.  But  because  they  are  so  valuable 
Dorothy  always  keeps  them  locked  up  with  the  best  silver,  and  hides 
the  box  somewhere;  she  never  will  tell  me  where,  because  she  says 
I've  such  weak  nerves,  and  that  if  a  burglar,  with  a  loaded  pistol 
at  my  head,  were  to  ask  me  where  we  kept  our  plate  and  jewels,  I 
should  bo  sure  to  tell  him;  and  she  says,  for  her  part,  she  would 
never  think  of  revealing  under  any  circumstances.  (I'm  sure  I 
hope  she  won't  be  tried.)  But  that's  the  reason  I  don't  wear  it 
often ;  it's  only  the  second  time  I've  had  it  on ;  and  I  can't  even  get 
at  it,  and  look  at  it,  which  I  should  like  to  do.  I  shouldn't  have 
had  it  on  to-night,  but  that  Dorothy  gave  it  out  to  me,  saying  it  was 
but  a  proper  compliment  to  pay  to  the  Duchess  of  Mentcith,  v.'ho  is 
to  be  here  in  her  diamonds." 

"  Dcar-ah-me !  Is  she  really!  Do  you  know  I  never  saw  a 
duchess  before."     And  Miss  Piper  drew  herself  up  and  craned  her 


A   CIIARITY  BALL.  289 

ueck,  as  if  resolved  to  "  behave  herself  projDerly,"  as  slio  had  been 
taught  to  do  at  boarding-school  thirty  years  before,  in  the  presence 
of  "  her  grace."  By-aud-by  she  said  to  Phabe,  with  a  sudden  jerk 
out  of  position, — "Look,  look!  that's  our  Mr.  Cholmley,  the 
magistrate  (he  was  the  great  man  of  Coreham),  and  that's  Mrs. 
Cholmley  in  red  satin,  and  Mr.  George  and  Mr.  Hariy  from  Oxford, 
I  do  declare;  and  Miss  Cholmley,  and  pretty  Miss  Sophy.  I  should 
like  to  go  and  speak  to  them,  but  then  its  so  formidable  crossing  a 
room  without  a  gentleman.  And  there  is  Coxe  the  butcher  and  his 
wife  !  Why  all  Coreham  seems  to  be  here  !  And  how  Mrs.  Coxe  can 
aflbrd  such  a  gown  I  can't  make  out  for  one,  for  I  know  Coxe  had  some 
difficulty  in  paying  for  the  last  sheep  he  bought  of  my  brother." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  band,  consisting  of  two  violins,  a  harp, 
and  an  occasional  clarionet,  having  finished  their  tuning,  and  brought 
themselves  as  nearly  into  accord  as  was  possible,  struck  up  a  brisk 
country-dance,  and  partners  quickly  took  their  places.  Mrs.  Gibson 
was  secretly  a  little  annoyed  at  Cynthia's  being  one  of  those  to  stand 
up  in  this  early  dance,  the  performers  in  which  w^ere  principally  the 
punctual  plebeians  of  Hollingford,  who,  _when  a  ball  was  fixed  to 
begin  at  eight,  had  no  notion  of  being  later,  and  so  losing  part  of  the 
amusement  for  which  they  have  payed  their  money.  She  imparted 
some  of  her  feelings  to  Molly,  sitting  by  her,  longing  to  dance,  and 
beating  time  to  the  spirited  music  with  one  of  her  pretty  little  feet. 

"  Your  dear  papa  is  always  so  very  punctual !  To-night  it  seems 
almost  a  pity,  for  we  really  are  here  before  there  is  any  one  come 
that  we  know." 

"  Oh  !  I  see  so  many  people  here  that  I  know.  There  are 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smeaton,  and  that  nice  good-tempered  daughter." 

"  Oh!  booksellers  and  butchers  if  you  will." 

"  Papa  has  found  a  great  many  friends  to  talk  to."  * 

"  Patients,  my  dear — hardly  friends.  There  are  some  nice- 
looking  people  here,"  catching  her  eye  on  the  Cholmleys;  "but  I 
daresay  they  have  driven  over  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Ashcombe 
or  Coreham,  and  have  hardly  calculated  how  soon  they  would  get 
here.  I  wonder  when  the  Towers'  party  will  come.  Ah !  there's 
Mr.  Ashtou,  and  Mr.  Preston.    Come,  the  room  is  beginning  to  fill." 

So  it  was,  for  this  was  to  be  a  very  good  ball,  people  said ;  and  a 

large  party  from  the  Towers  was  coming,  and  a  duchess  in  diamonds 

among  the  number.     Every  great  house  in  the  district  was  expected 

to  be  full  of  guests  on  these  occasions  ;  but  at  this  early  hour,  the 

Vol.  I.  19 


290  'WIVES   AND   DAUGHTEKS. 

to'mispeople  Lad  the  floor  almost  entirely  to  tliemselves ;  tlie  county 
magnates  came  tlropping  in  later ;  and  chiefest  among  them  all 
was  the  lord-lieutenaut  from  the  Towers.  But  to-night  they  were 
unusually  late,  and  the  aristocratic  ozone  being  absent  from  the 
atmosphere,  there  was  a  flatness  about  the  dancing  of  all  those  wha 
considered  themselves  aboA'c  the  plebeian  ranks  of  the  tradespeople. 
They,  however,  enjoyed  themselves  thoroughly,  and  sprang  and 
"bounded  till  their  eyes  sparkled  and  their  cheeks  glowed  with 
exercise  and  excitement.  Some  of  the  more  prudent  parents, 
mindful  of  the  next  day's  duties,  began  to  consider  at  what  hour 
they  ought  to  go  home  ;  but  with  all  there  v/as  an  expressed  or  un- 
expressed curiosity  to  see  the  duchess  and  her  diamonds ;  for  the 
Meuteith  diamonds  were  famous  in  higher  circles  than  that  now 
assembled ;  and  their  fame  had  trickled  down  to  it  through  the 
medium  of  ladies'-maids  and  housekeepers.  Mr.  Gibson  had  had  to 
leave  the  ball-room  for  a  time,  as  he  had  anticipated,  but  he  was  to 
return  to  his  wife  as  soon  as  his  duties  were  accomplished ;  and,  in 
his  absence,  Mrs.  Gibson  kept  herself  a  little  aloof  from  the  Miss 
Brownings  and  those  of  her  acquaintance  who  would  willingly  have 
entered  into  conversation  with  her,  with  the  view  of  attaching  herself 
to  the  skirts  of  the  Towers'  paiiy,  when  they  should  make  their 
appearance.  If  Cynthia  would  not  be  so  veiy  ready  in  engaging 
herself  to  every  possible  partner  who  asked  her  to  dance,  there  were 
sure  to  be  young  men  staying  at  the  Tov\'ers  who  would  be  on  the 
look-out  for  pretty  girls :  and  who  could  tell  to  what  a  dance  might 
lead  ?  Molly,  too,  though  not  so  good  a  dancer  as  Cynthia,  and, 
from  her  timidity,  less  graceful  and  easy,  was  becoming  engaged 
pretty  deeply  ;  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  she  was  longing  to  dance 
every  dance,  no  matter  with  whom.  Even  she  might  not  be  avail- 
able for  the  more  aristocratic  partners  Mrs.  Gibson  anticipated. 
She  v/as  feeling  veiT  much  annoyed  with  the  whole  proceedings  of 
the  evening  when  she  was  aware  of  some  one  standing  by  her  ;  and, 
turning  a  little  to  one  side,  she  saw  Mr.  Preston  keeping  guard,  as 
it  were,  over  the  seats  which  Molly  and  Cynthia  had  just  quitted. 
He  was  looking  so  black  that,  if  their  eyes  had  not  met,  Mrs.  Gibson 
v/ould  have  preferred  not  speaking  to  him  ;  as  it  was,  she  thought  it 
unavoidable. 

"  The  rooms  are  not  v/ell-liglited  to-night,  are  they,  Mr.  Preston  ?  " 
"No,"  said  he;  "  but  who  could  light  such  dingy  old  paint  as 
this,  loaded  with  evergi-ecus,  too,  which  always  darken  a  room?" 


A  CHARITY   BALL.  291 

"And  tie  compnny,  too!  I  always  think  that  freshness  and 
brilliancy  of  dress  go  as  far  as  anything  to  brighten  up  a  room. 
Look  what  a  set  of  people  are  here  :  the  greater  part  of  the  women 
are  dressed  in  dark  silks,  really  only  fit  for  a  morning.  The  place 
will  be  quite  diflerent,  by-and-by,  when  the  county  families  are  in  a 
little  more  force." 

Mr.  Preston  made  no  reply.  He  had  put  his  glass  in  his  eye, 
apparently  for  the  purpose  of  watching  the  dancers.  If  its  exact 
direction  could  have  been  ascertained,  it  would  have  been  found  that 
he  was  looking  intently  and  angrily  at  a  flying  figure  in  pink  muslin : 
many  a  one  was  gazing  at  Cynthia  with  intentuess  besides  himself, 
but  no  one  in  anger.  Mrs.  Gibson  was  not  so  fine  an  observer  as 
to  read  all  this ;  but  here  was  a  gentlemanly  and  handsome  young 
man,  to  whom  she  could  prattle,  instead  of  either  joining  herself  on 
to  objectionable  people,  or  sitting  all  forlorn  until  the  Towers'  party 
came.     So  she  went  on  with  her  small  remarks. 

"  You  are  not  dancing,  Mr.  Preston! " 

"No!  The  partner  I  had  engaged  has  made  some  mistake.  I 
am  waiting  to  have  an  explanation  with  her." 

Mrs.  Gibson  was  silent.  An  uncomfortable  tide  of  recollections 
appeared  to  come  over  her ;  she,  like  Mr.  Preston  watched  Cynthia ; 
the  dance  was  ended,  and  she  was  walking  round  the  room  in  easy 
unconcern  as  to  what  might  await  her.  Presently  her  partner, 
Mr.  Harry  Cholmley,  brought  her  back  to  her  seat.  She  took  that 
vacant  next  to  Mr.  Preston,  leaving  that  by  her  mother  for  Molly's 
occupation.  The  latter  returned  a  moment  afterwards  to  her  place. 
Cynthia  seemed  entirely  unconcious  of  Mr.  Preston's  neighbourhood. 
Mrs.  Gibson  leaned  forwards,  and  said  to  her  daughter, — 

"  Your  last  partner  was  a  gentleman,  my  dear.  You  are  im- 
proving in  your  selection.  I  really  was  ashamed  of  you  before, 
figuring  away  with  that  attorney's  clerk.  Molly,  do  you  know  whom 
you  have  been  dancing  with  ?  I  have  found  out  he  is  the  Coreham 
bookseller." 

"  That  accounts  for  his  being  so  well  up  in  all  the  books  I've 
been  wanting  to  hear  about,"  said  Molly,  eagerly,  but  with  a  spice 
of  malice  in  her  mind.  "  Ho  really  was  very  pleasant,  mamma,"  she 
added ;  "  and  he  looks  quite  a  gentleman,  and  dances  beautifully! " 

"  Very  well.  But  remember  if  you  go  on  this  way  you  will  have 
to  shake  hands  over  the  counter  to-morrow  morning  with  some  of 
your  partners  of  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  coldly. 

19—2 


292  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  But  I  really  don't  know  how  to  refuse  wlieu  people  are  intro- 
duced to  mo  and  ask  me,  and  I  am  longing  to  dance.  You  know 
to-niglit  it  is  a  charity  ball,  and  papa  said  ever}'body  danced  with 
everybody,"  said  Molly,  in  a  pleading  tone  of  voice ;  for  she  could 
not  quite  and  entirely  enjoy  herself  if  she  was  out  of  harmony  with 
any  one.  What  reply  Mrs.  Gibson  would  have  made  to  this  speech 
cannot  now  be  ascertained  ;  for,  before  she  could  make  reply,  Mr. 
Preston  stepped  a  little  forwards,  and  said,  in  a  tone  which  ho  meant 
to  be  icily  indifferent,  but  which  trembled  with  anger, — 

"  If  Miss  Gibson  finds  any  difficulty  in  refusing  a  partner,  she 
has  only  to  apply  to  Miss  Kirkpatrick  for  instructions." 

Cynthia  lifted  up  her  beautiful  eyes,  and,  fixing  them  on  Mr. 
Preston's  face,  said,  very  quietly,  as  if  only  stating  a  matter  of 
fact, — 

"  You  forget,  I  think,  Mr.  Preston  :  Miss  Gibson  implied  that 
she  wished  to  dance  with  the  person  who  asked  her — that  makes  all 
the  difference.     I  can't  instruct  her  how  to  act  in  that  difficulty." 

And  to  the  rest  of  this  little  conversation,  Cynthia  appeared  to 
lend  no  ear;  and  she  was  almost  directly  claimed  by  her  next  partner. 
Mr.  Preston  took  the  seat  now  left  empty  much  to  Molly's  annoy- 
ance. At  first  she  feared  lest  he  should  be  going  to  ask  her  to 
dance ;  but,  instead,  he  put  out  his  hand  for  Cynthia's  nosegay, 
which  she  had  left  on  rising,  entrusted  to  Molly.  It  had  suffered 
considerably  from  the  heat  of  the  room,  and  was  no  longer  full  and 
fresh ;  not  so  much  so  as  Molly's,  which  had  not,  in  the  first  instance, 
been  pulled  to  pieces  in  picking  out  the  scarlet  flowers  which  now 
adorned  Molly's  hair,  and  which  had  since  been  cherished  with  more 
care.  Enough,  however,  remained  of  Cynthia's  to  show  very  dis- 
tinctly that  it  was  not  the  one  Mr.  Preston  had  sent ;  and  it  was 
perhaps  to  convince  himself  of  this,  that  he  rudely  asked  to  examine 
it.  But  Molly,  faithful  to  what  she  imagined  would  be  Cynthia's 
wish,  refused  to  allow  him  to  touch  it ;  she  only  held  it  a  little 
nearer. 

"  Miss  Kirkpatrick  has  not  done  me  the  honour  of  wearing  the 
bouquet  I  sent  her,  I  see.  She  received  it,  I  suppose,  and  my 
note  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Molly,  rather  intimidated  by  the  tone  iu  which  this 
was  said.     "  But  we  had  already  accepted  these  two  nosegays." 

Mrs.  Gibson  was  just  the  person  to  come  to  the  rescue  with  her 
honeyed  words  on  such  an  occasion  as  the  jn-esent.     She  evidently 


A   CHARITY   LALL.  293 

was  rather  afraid  [of  Mr.  Preston,   ami  wislied  to  keep  at  peace 
with  him. 

"  Oh,  3'es,  wc  were  so  sorry  !  Of  course,  I  dou't  mean  to  say 
we  could  be  sorry  for  any  one's  kindness  ;  but  two  such  lovely  nose- 
gays had  been  sent  from  Hamlcy  Hall — you  may  see  how  beautiful 
from  what  Molly  holds  in  her  hand — and  they  had  come  before  yours, 
Mr.  Preston." 

"  I  should  have  felt  honoured  if  you  had  accepted  of  mine,  since 
the  young  ladies  were  so  well  provided  for.  I  was  at  some  pains  in 
selecting  the  flowers  at  Green's ;  I  think  I  may  say  it  was  rather 
more  recherche  than  that  of  Miss  Kirkpatrick's,  which  Miss  Gibson 
holds  so  tenderly  and  securely  in  her  hand." 

"  Oh,  because  Cynthia  would  take  out  the  most  effective  flowers 
to  put  in  my  hair  !  "  exclaimed  Molly,  eagerly. 

"  Did  she  ?  "  said  Mr.  Preston,  with  a  certain  accent  of  pleasure 
in  his  voice,  as  though  he  were  glad  she  set  so  little  store  by  the 
nosegay ;  and  he  walked  off  to  stand  behind  Cynthia  in  the  quadrille 
that  was  being  danced  ;  and  Molly  saw  him  making  her  reply  to 
him — against  her  will,  Molly  was  sure.  But,  somehow,  his  face  and 
manner  implied  power  over  her.  She  looked  grave,  deaf,  indifierent, 
indignant,  defiant  ;  but,  after  a  half-whispered  speech  to  Cynthia,  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  dance,  she  evidently  threw  him  an  impatient 
consent  to  what  he  was  asking,  for  he  walked  off  with  a  disagreeable 
smile  of  satisfaction  on  his  handsome  face. 

All  this  time  the  murmurs  were  spreading  at  the  lateness  of  the 
party  from  the  Towers,  and  person  after  person  came  up  to  Mrs. 
Gibson  as  if  she  were  the  accredited  authority  as  to  the  earl  and 
countess's  plans.  In  one  sense  this  was  flattering  ;  but  then  the 
acknowledgment  of  common  ignorance  and  wonder  reduced  her  to 
the  level  of  the  inquirers.  Mrs.  Goodenough  felt  herself  particularly 
aggrieved  ;  she  had  had  her  spectacles  on  for  the  last  hour  and  a 
half,  in  order  to  be  ready  for  the  sight  the  very  first  minute  any  one 
from  the  Towers  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  I  had  a  headache,"  she  complained,  "  and  I  should  have  sent 
my  money,  and  never  stirred  out  o'  doors  to-night ;  for  I've  seen 
a  many  of  these  here  balls,  and  my  lord  and  my  lady  too,  when  they 
were  better  worth  looking  at  nor  they  are  noAV ;  but  every  one  was 
talking  of  the  duchess,  and  the  duchess  and  her  diamonds,  and  I 
thought  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  behindhand,  and  never  ha'  seen  neither 
the  duchess  nor  her  diamonds  ;  so  I'm  here,  and  coal  and  candle- 


29-1  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

light  wasting  away  at  home,  for  I  told  Sally  to  sit  up  for  me  ;  and, 
above  everything,  I  cannot  abide  waste.  I  took  it  from  my  mother, 
who  was  such  a  one  against  waste  as  you  never  see  now-a-days. 
She  was  a  manager,  if  ever  there  was  a  one  ;  and  brought  up  nine 
children  on  less  than  any  one  else  could  do,  I'll  be  bound.  Why ! 
she  wouldn't  let  us  be  extravagant — not  even  in  the  matter  of  colds. 
Whenever  any  on  us  had  got  a  pretty  bad  cold,  she  took  the  oppor- 
tunity and  cut  our  hair  ;  for  she  said,  said  she,  it  was  of  no  use 
having  two  colds  when  one  would  do— and  cutting  of  our  hair  was 
sure  to  give  us  a  cold.  But,  for  all  that,  I  wish  the  duchess  would 
come." 

"  Ah  !  but  fancy,  what  it  is  to  me,"  sighed  out  Mrs.  Gibson  ; 
"  so  long  as  I  have  been  without  seeing  the  dear  family — and  seeing 
so  little  of  them  the  other  day  when  I  was  at  the  Towers  (for  the 
duchess  would  have  my  opinion  on  Lady  Alice's  trousseau,  and  kept 
asking  me  so  many  questions  it  took  up  all  the  time) — and  Lady 
Harriet's  last  v\fords  were  a  happy  anticipation  of  our  meeting  to-night. 
It's  nearly  twelve  o'clock." 

Every  one  of  any  pretensions  to  gentility  was  painfully  affected 
by  the  absence  of  the  family  from  the  Towers  ;  the  veiy  fiddlers 
seemed  unwilling  to  begin  playing  a  dance  that  might  be  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  the  gi'eat  folks.  Miss  Phcebc  Browning  had 
apologized  for  them — Miss  Browning  had  blamed  them  with  calm 
dignity ;  it  was  only  the  butchers  and  bakers  and  candlestick-makers 
Avho  rather  enjoyed  the  absence  of  restraint,  and  were  happy  and 
hilarious. 

At  last,  there  was  a  rumbling,  and  a  rushing,  and  a  whispering, 
and  the  music  stopped ;  so  the  dancers  were  obliged  to  do  so  too ;  and 
in  came  Lord  Cumuor  in  his  state  dress,  with  a  fat,  middle-aged 
woman  on  his  arm  ;  she  was  dressed  almost  like  a  girl — in  a  sprigged 
muslin,  with  natural  flowers  in  her  hair,  but  not  a  vestige  of  a  jewel 
or  a  diamond.  Yet  it  must  be  the  duchess  ;  but  what  v/as  a  duchess 
without  diamonds  '? — and  in  a  dress  which  farmer  Hodson's  daughter 
might  have  worn  !  Was  it  the  duchess  ?  Could  it  be  the  duchess  ? 
The  little  crowd  of  inquirers  around  Mrs.  Gibson  thickened,  to  hear 
her  confirm  their  disappointing  surmise.  After  tbe  duchess  came 
Lady  Cumnor,  looking  like  Lady  Macbeth  in  black  velvet — a  cloud 
upon  her  brow,  made  more  conspicuous  by  the  lines  of  age  rapidly 
gathering  on  her  handsome  face ;  and  Lady  Harriet,  and  other  ladies, 
amon£;st  whom  there  was  one  dressed  so  like  the  duchess   as  to 


A  CKAEITY   BALL.  295 

suggest  tlic  idea  of  a  sister  rather  thau  a  daughter,  as  far  as  dress 
went.  There  was  Lord  Ilollhigford,  plain  iu  face,  awkward  in  person, 
gentlemanly  in  manner  ;  and  half-a-dozen  younger  men.  Lord  Alhert 
Monsou,  Captain  James,  and  others  of  their  age  and  standing,  who 
came  in  looking  anything  if  not  critical.  This  long-expected  party 
swept  up  to  the  seats  reserved  for  them  at  the  head  of  the  room, 
apparently  regardless  of  the  interruption  they  caused  ;  for  the  dancers 
stood  aside,  and  almost  dispersed  back  to  their  seats,  and  when 
"Money-musk"  struck  up  again,  not  half  the  former  set  of  people 
stood  up  to  finish  the  dance. 

Lady  Harriet,  who  was  rather  difierent  to  Miss  Piper,  and  no 
more  minded  crossing  the  room  alone  thau  if  the  lookers-on  were  so 
many  cabhagos,  spied  the  Gibson  party  pretty  quickly  out,  and  came 
across  to  them. 

"  Here  we  are  at  last.  How  d'ye  do,  dear?  Why,  little  one 
(to  Molly),  how  nice  you're  looking  !     Aren't  we  shamefully  late  '?  " 

"Oh!  it's  only  just  past  twelve,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson;  "  and  I 
daresay  you  dined  very  late." 

"  It  was  not  that ;  it  was  that  ill-manuered  woman,  who  went  to 
her  own  room  after  wc  came  out  from  dinner,  and  she  and  Lady  Alice 
stayed  there  invisible,  till  we  thought  they  were  putting  on  some 
splendid  attire — as  they  ought  to  have  done — and  at  half-past  ten, 
when  mamma  sent  up  to  them  to  say  the  carriages  were  at  the  door, 
the  duchess  sent  down  for  some  beef- tea,  and  at  last  appeared  a  Vcn- 
fidit  as  you  sec  her.  Mamma  is  so  angry  with  her,  and  some  of  the 
others  are  annoyed  at  not  coming  earlier,  and  one  or  two  are  giving 
themselves  airs  about  coming  at  all.  Papa  is  the  only  one  who  is  not 
affected  by  it."     Then  turning  to  Molly  Lady  Harriet  asked, — 

"  Have  you  been  dancing  much,  Miss  Gibson?" 

"  Yes  ;  not  every  dance,  but  nearly  all."  ^ 

It  was  a  simple  question  enough  ;  but  Lady  Harriet's  speaking 
at  all  to  Molly  had  become  to  Mrs.  Gibson  almost  like  shaking  a  red 
rag  at  a  bull ;  it  was  the  one  thing  sure  to  put  her  out  of  temper. 
But  she  would  not  have  shown  this  to  Lady  Harriet  for  the  world ; 
only  she  contrived  to  baffle  any  endeavours  at  farther  conversation 
between  the  two,  by  placing  herself  betwixt  Lady  Harriet  and  MoUy 
whom  the  former  asked  to  sit  down  in  the  absent  Cynthia's  room. 

"  I  Vt'on't  go  back  to  those  people,  I  am  so  mad  with  them ;  and, 
•besides,  I  hardly  saw  you  the  other  day,  and  I  must  have  some  gossip 
with  you.    So  she  sat  down  by  Mrs.  Gibson,  and  as  Mrs.  Goodenough 


296  v;ivES  and  daughters. 

afterwards  expressed  it,  "  looked  like  anybody  else."  Mrs.  Good- 
enough  said  this  to  excuse  herself  for  a  little  misadventure  she  fell 
into.  She  had  taken  a  deliberate  sui-vey  of  the  grandees  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  room,  spectacles  on  nose,  and  had  inquired  in  no 
very  measured  voice,  who  everybody  was,  from  Mr.  Sheepshanks,  my 
lord's  agent,  and  her  very  good  neighbour,  who  in  vain  tried  to  check 
her  loud  ardour  for  information  by  replying  to  her  in  whispers.  But 
she  was  rather  deaf  as  well  as  blind,  so  his  low  tones  only  brought 
■  upon  him  fresh  inquiries.  Now,  satisfied  as  far  as  she  could  be,  and 
on  her  way  to  departure,  and  the  extinguishing  of  fire  and  candle- 
light, she  stopped  opposite  to  Mrs.  Gibson,  and  thus  addressed  her 
by  way  of  renewal  of  their  former  subject  of  conversation: — 

"  Such  a  shabby  thing  for  a  duchess  I  never  saw ;  not  a  bit  of  a 
diamond  near  her !  They're  none  of  'em  worth  looking  at  except 
the  countess,  and  she's  always  a  personable  woman,  and  not  so  lusty 
as  she  was.  But  they're  not  worth  waiting  up  for  till  this  time  o' 
night." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  Lady  Harriet  put  her  hand 
out,  and  said, — 

"  You  don't  remember  me,  but  I  know  you  from  having  seen  you 
at  the  Towers.  Lady  Cumnor  is  a  good  deal  thinner  than  she  was, 
but  we  hope  her  health  is  better  for  it." 

"  It's  Lady  Harriet,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson  to  Mrs.  Goodenough,  in 
reproachful  dismay. 

"  Deary  me,  your  ladyship  !  I  hope  I've  given  no  ofieuce  !  But, 
you  see — that  is  to  say,  your  ladyship  sees,  that  it's  late  hours  for 
such  folks  as  me,  and  I  only  stayed  out  of  my  bed  to  see  the  duchess, 
and  I  thought  she  come  in  diamonds  and  a  coronet ;  and  it  puts  one 
out  at  my  age,  to  be  disappointed  in  the  only  chance  I'm  like  to  have 
of  so  fine  a  sight." 

"  I'm  put  out  too,"  said  Lady  Harriet.  "  I  wanted  to  have 
come  early,  and  here  we  are  as  late  as  this.  I'm  so  cross  and  ill- 
tempered,  I  should  be  glad  to  hide  myself  in  bed  as  soon  as  you 
will  do." 

She  said  this  so  sweetly  that  Mrs.  Goodenough  relaxed  into  a 
smile,  and  her  crabbedness  into  a  compliment. 

"  I  don't  believe   as   ever  your  ladyship  can  be   cross   and  ill- 
tempered  with  that  pretty  face.     I'm  an  old  woman,  so  you  must  let 
me  say  so."     Lady  Harriet  stood  up,  and  made  a  low  curtsey.    Then 
holding  out  her  hand,  she  said, — 


A  CHARITY  BALL.  297 

"  I  won't  keep  you  up  any  longer;  but  I'll  promise  one  thing  in 
return  for  your  pretty  speech  ;  if  ever  I  am  a  duchess,  I'll  come  and 
show  myself  to  you  iu  all  my  robes  and  gewgaws.  Good  night, 
madam  !  " 

"  There  !  I  knew  how  it  would  be  !  "  said  she,  not  resuming  her 
seat.     "And  on  the  eve  of  a  county  election  too." 

"  Oh !  you  must  not  take  old  Mrs.  Goodenough  as  a  specimen, 
dear  Lady  Harriet.  She  is  always  a  grumbler  !  I  am  sure  no  one 
else  would  complain  of  j'our  all  being  as  late  as  you  liked,"  said  Mrs. 
Gibson. 

"What  do  you  say,  Molly?"  said  Lady  Harriet,  suddenly 
turning  her  eyes  on  Molly's  face.  "  Don't  you  think  we've  lost  some 
of  our  popularity, — which  at  this  time  means  votes — by  coming  so 
late.    Come,  answer  me  !  you  used  to  be  a  famous  little  truth-teller." 

"  I  don't  Imow  about  popularity  or  votes,"  said  Molly,  rather  un- 
willingly. "But  I  think  many  people  were  sorry  you  did  not  come 
sooner;  and  isn't  that  rather  a  proof  of  popularity?"  she  added. 

"  That's  a  very  neat  and  diplomatic  answer,"  said  Lady  Harriet, 
smiling,  and  tapping  Molly's  cheek  with  her  fan. 

"  Molly  knows  nothing  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  a  little  off 
her  guard.  "It  would  be  very  impertinent  if  she  or  any  one  else 
questioned  Lady  Cumnor's  perfect  right  to  come  when  she  chose." 

"  Well,  all  I  know  is,  I  must  go  back  to  mamma  now ;  but  I 
shall  make  another  raid  into  these  regions  by-and-by,  and  you  must 

keep  a  place  for  me.     Ah  !  thex-e  are Miss  Brownings  ;  you  see 

I  don't  forget  my  lesson.  Miss  Gibson." 

"  Molly,  I  cannot  have  you  speaking  so  to  Lady  Harriet,"  said 
Mrs.  Gibson,  as  soon  as  she  was  left  alone  with  her  stepdaughter. 
"  You  would  never  have  known  her  at  all  if  it  had  not  been  for  me, 
and  don't  be  always  putting  yourself  into  our  conversation."         v 

"But  I  must  speak  if  she  asks  me  questions,"  pleaded  Molly. 

"  Well !  if  you  must,  you  must,  I  acknowledge.  I'm  candid 
about  that  at  any  rate.  But  there's  no  need  for  you  to  set  up  to 
have  an  opinion  at  your  age." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  help  it,"  said  Molly. 

"  She's  such  a  whimsical  person  ;  look  thei-e,  if  she's  not  talking 
to  Miss  Phoebe ;  and  Miss  Phoebe  is  so  weak  she'll  be  easily  led 
away  into  fancying  she  is  hand  and  glove  with  Lady  Harriet.  If 
there  is  one  thing  I  hate  more  than  another,  it  is  the  trying  to  make 
out  an  intimacy  with  great  people." 


298  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

Molly  felfc  iuuocent  enough,  so  she  offered  no  justification  of 
herself,  and  made  no  reply.  Indeed  she  was  more  occupied  in 
watching  Cynthia.  She  could  not  understand  the  change  that 
seemed  to  have  come  over  her.  She  M-as  dancing,  it  was  true,  with 
the  same  lightness  and  grace  as  before,  but  the  smooth  bounding 
motion,  as  of  a  feather  blown  onwards  by  the  wind,  was  gone.  She 
was  conversing  with  her  partner,  but  without  the  soft  animation  that 
tisually  shone  out  upon  her  countenance.  And  when  she  was  brought 
back  to  her  seat  Molly  noticed  her  changed  colour,  and  her  dreamily 
abstracted  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Cynthia  ?  "  asked  she,  in  a  veiy  low  voice. 
"Nothing,"  said  Cynthia,  suddenly  looking  up,  and  in  an  accent 
of  what  was,  in  her,  shai-pness.     "  Why  should  there  be  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  but  you  look  different  to  what  you  did — tired  or 
something." 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,  or,  if  there  is,  don't  talk  about  it, 
It  is  all  your  fancy." 

This  was  a  rather  contradictory  speech,  to  be  interpreted  by 
intuition  rather  than  by  logic.  Molly  understood  that  Cj-Tithia 
wished  for  quietness  and  silence.  But  what  was  her  surprise,  after 
the  speeches  that  had  passed  before,  and  the  implication  of  Cynthia's 
whole  manner  to  Mr.  Preston,  to  see  him  come  up  to  her,  and, 
without  a  word,  ofier  his  arm  and  lead  her  away  to  dance.  It 
appeared  to  strike  Mrs.  Gibson  as  something  remarkable;  for,  for- 
getting her  late  passage  at  arms  with  Molly,  she  asked,  wonderingly, 
as  if  almost  distrusting  the  evidence  of  her  senses, — 
"  Is  Cynthia  going  to  dance  with  Mr.  Preston?  " 
Molly  had  scarcely  time  to  answer  before  she  herself  was  led  off 
by  her  partner.  She  could  hardly  attend  to  him  or  to  the  figures  of 
the  quadrille  for  watching  for  Cynthia  among  the  moving  forms. 

Once  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  standing  still — downcast — ■ 
listening  to  Mr.  Preston's  eager  speech.  Again  she  was  walking 
languidly  among  the  dancers,  almost  as  if  she  took  no  notice  of  those 
around  her.  When  she  and  Molly  joined  each  other  again,  the  shade 
on  Cynthia's  face  had  deepened  to  gloom.  But,  at  the  same  time, 
if  a  physiognomist  had  studied  her  expression,  he  would  have  read  in 
it  defiance  and  anger,  and  perhaps  also  a  little  perplexity.  "S^hile 
this  quadi-ille  was  going  on,  Lady  Harriet  had  been  speaking  to  her 
brother. 

"  lioliincrford !  "    she   said,    laving    her  hand    on  his  arm,   and 


A  CHARITY   BALL. 

dra-wing  liiin  a  little  apart  from  the  well-born  crowd  amid  which  he 
stood,  silent  and  abstracted,  "  you  don't  know  how  these  good  people 
here  have  been  hurt  and  disappointed  with  our  being  so  late,  and 
with  the  duchess's  ridiculous  simplicity  of  dress." 

"  Why  should  they  mind  it  ?  "  asked  he,  taking  advantage  of  her 
being  out  of  breath  with  eagerness, 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  wise  and  stupid  ;  don't  you  see,  we're  a  shov; 
and  a  spectacle — it's  like  having  a  pantomime  with  harlequin  and 
columbine  in  plain  clothes." 

*'  I  don't  understand  how "  he  began. 

"  Then  take  it  upon  trust.  They  really  are  a  little  disappointed, 
whether  they  are  logical  or  not  in  being  so,  and  we  must  try  and 
make  it  up  to  them  ;  for  one  thing,  because  I  can't  bear  our  vassals 
to  look  dissatisfied  and  disloyal,  and  then  there's  the  election  in 
June." 

"  I  really  would  as  soon  be  out  of  the  House  as  in  it." 

"  Nonsense  ;  it  would  grieve  papa  beyond  measure — but  there  is 
no  time  to  talk  about  that  now.  You  must  go  and  dance  with  some 
of  the  townspeople,  and  I'll  ask  Sheepshanks  to  introduce  me  to  a 
respectable  young  farmer.  Can't  you  get  Captain  James  to  make 
himself  useful '?  There  he  goes  with  Lady  Alice  !  If  I  don't  get 
him  introduced  to  the  ugliest  tailor's  daughter  I  can  find  for  the  next 
dance !  "  She  put  her  ann  in  her  brother's  as  she  spoke,  as  if  to 
lead  him  to  some  partner.    He  resisted,  however — resisted  piteously. 

"  Pray  don't,  Harriet.  You  know  I  can't  dance.  I  hate  it ;  I 
always  did.     I  don't  know  how  to  get  through  a  quadrille." 

"  It's  a  country  dance  !  "  said  she,  resolutely. 

"It's  all  the  same.  And  what  shall  I  say  to  my  partner?  I 
haven't  a  notion:  I  shall  have  no  subject  in  common.  Speak  of 
being  disappointed,  they'll  be  ten  times  more  disappointed  vrhen  xhey 
find  I  can  neither  dance  nor  talk  !  " 

"I'll  be  merciful;  don't  be  so  cowardly.  In  their  eyes  a  lord 
may  dance  like  a  bear — as  some  lords  not  very  far  from  me  are — if 
he  likes,  and  they'll  take  it  for  grace.  And  you  shall  begin  with 
Molly  Gibson,  your  friend  the  doctor's  daughter.  She's  a  good, 
simple,  intelligent  Httle  girl,  which  you'll  think  a  great  deal  more  of, 
I  suppose,  than  of  the  frivolous  fact  of  her  being  very  pretty.  Clare  ! 
will  you  allow  me  to  introduce  my  brother  to  Miss  Gibson  ?  he  hopes 
to  engage  her  for  this  dance.     Lord  HoUingford,  Miss  Gibson  !  " 

Poor  Lord  HoUingford  !  there  was  nothing  for  him  but  to  follow 


300  WIVES   AXD   DAUGHTERS. 

his  sister's  very  explicit  leatl,  aucl  Molly  and  he  walked  off  to  their 
places,  each  heartily  wishing  their  dance  together  Avell  over.  Lady 
Harriet  flew  off  to  Mr.  Sheepshanks  to  secure  her  respectahle  young 
farmer,  and  Mrs.  Gibson  remained  alone,  wishing  that  Lady  Cumnor 
would  send  one  of  her  attendant  gentlemen  for  her.  It  would  be  so 
much  more  agreeable  to  be  sitting  even  at  the  fag-end  of  nobility 
than  here  on  a  bench  with  everybody  ;  hoping  that  everybody  would 
see  Molly  dancing  away  with  a  lord,  yet  vexed  that  the  chance  had  so 
befallen  that  IMoUy  instead  of  Cynthia  was  the  young  lady  singled 
out ;  wondering  if  simplicity  of  dress  was  now  become  the  highest 
fashion,  and  pondering  on  the  possibility  of  cleverly  inducing  Lady 
Harriet  to  introduce  Lord  Albert  Monson  to  her  own  beautiful 
daughter,  Cynthia. 

Molly  found  Lord  Hollingford,  the  wise  and  learned  Lord  HoUing- 
ford,  strangely  stupid  in  understanding  the  mystery  of  "  Cross  hands 
and  back  again,  down  the  middle  and  up  again,"  He  was  constantly 
getting  hold  of  the  wrong  hands,  and  as  constantly  stopping  when  he 
had  returned  to  his  place,  quite  unaware  that  the  duties  of  society 
and  the  laws  of  the  game  required  that  he  should  go  ou  capering  till 
he  had  arrived  at  the  bottom  of  the  room.  He  perceived  that  he 
had  performed  his  part  very  badlj^  and  apologized  to  Molly  when 
once  they  had  arrived  at  that  haven  of  comparative  peace ;  and  he 
expressed  his  regret  so  simply  and  heartily  that  she  felt  at  her  ease 
with  him  at  once,  especially  when  he  confided  to  her  his  reluctance  at 
having  to  dance  at  all,  and  his  only  doing  it  under  his  sister's  com- 
pulsion. To  Molly  he  was  an  elderly  widower,  almost  as  old  as  her 
rather,  and  by-and-by  they  got  into  very  pleasant  conversation.  She 
learnt  from  him  that  Roger  Hamley  had  just  been  publishing  a  paper 
in  some  scientific  periodical,  which  had  excited  considerable  attention, 
as  it  was  intended  to  confute  some  theorj'  of  a  great  French  physi- 
ologist, and  Roger's  article  proved  the  writer  to  be  possessed  of  a 
most  unusual  amount  of  knowledge  on  the  subject.  This  piece  of 
news  was  of  great  interest  to  Molly ;  and,  in  her  questions,  she 
herself  evinced  so  much  intelligence,  and  a  mind  so  well  prepared 
for  the  reception  of  information,  that  Lord  Hollingford  at  any  rate 
would  have  felt  his  quest  of  popularity  a  very  easy  affair  indeed,  if 
he  might  have  gone  on  talking  quietly  to  Molly  during  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  When  he  took  her  back  to  her  place,  he  found  Mr.  Gibson 
there,  and  fell  into  talk  with  him,  until  Lady  Harriet  once  more 
came  to  stir  him  up  to  his  duties.     Before  very  long,  however,  he 


A  CHARITY   BALL.  301 

1-eturued  to  Mr.  Gibson's  side,  and  began  telling  bim  of  tins  paper  of 
Roger  Ilamley's,  of  wbicli  Mr.  Gibson  bad  not  yet  beard.  In  tbe 
midst  of  tbeir  conversation,  as  tbey  stood  close  by  Mrs.  Gibson, 
Lord  Holliugford  saw  Molly  in  tbe  distance,  and  interrupted  bimsclf 
to  say,  "  Wbat  a  cbarming  little  lady  tbat  daugbter  of  yours  is! 
Most  girls  of  ber  age  are  so  difficult  to  talk  to  ;  but  sbc  is  intelligent 
and  full  of  interest  in  all  sorts  of  sensible  tilings  ;  ^Ycll  read,  too — 
sbe  was  up  in  Lc  Ileijne  Animal — and  very  pretty  !  " 

Mr.  Gibson  bowed,  mucb  pleased  at  sucb  a  compliment  from 
sucb  a  man,  was  be  lord  or  not.  It  is  very  likely  tbat  if  Molly  bad 
been  a  stupid  listener.  Lord  Hollingford  would  not  liave  discovered 
her  beauty ;  or  tbe  converse  might  be  asserted — if  she  had  not  been 
young  and  pretty,  he  wonld  not  have  exerted  himself  to  talk  on 
scientific  subjects  in  a  manner  which  sbe  could  understand.  But  in 
whatever  way  Molly  had  won  his  approbation  and  admiration,  there 
was  no  doubt  that  she  had  earned  it  somehow.  And,  when  sbe  next 
returned  to  her  place,  Mrs.  Gibson  greeted  her  with  soft  words  and  a 
gracious  smile ;  for  it  does  not  require  much  reasoning  power  to 
discover,  that  if  it  is  a  very  fine  thing  to  be  mother-in-law  to  a  very 
magnificent  three-tailed  bashaw,  it  presupposes  that  tbe  wife  who 
makes  the  connection  between  the  two  parties  is  in  harmony  with  her 
mother.  And  so  far  bad  Mrs.  Gibson's  thoughts  wandered  into 
futurity.  She  only  wished  that  the  happy  chance  had  fallen  to 
Cynthia's  instead  of  to  Molly's  lot.  But  Molly  was  a  docile,  sweet 
creature,  very  pretty,  and  remarkably  intelligent,  as  my  lord  had 
said.  It  was  a  pity  that  Cynthia  preferred  making  millinery  to 
reading  ;  but  perhaps  that  could  be  rectified.  And  there  Avas  Lord 
Cumnor  coming  to  speak  to  ber,  and  Lady  Cumnor  nodding  to  ber, 
and  indicating  a  place  by  her  side. 

It  was  not  an  unsatisfactory  ball  upon  the  whole  to  Mrs.  Gibson, 
although  she  paid  the  usual  penalty  for  sitting  up  beyond  her  usual 
hour  in  perpetual  glare  and  movement.  The  next  morning  she 
awoke  irritable  and  fatigued ;  and  a  little  of  the  same  feeling 
oppressed  both  Cynthia  and  Molly.  The  former  was  lounging  in  the 
window-seat,  holding  a  tbree-days'-old  newspaper  in  her  hand,  which 
she  was  making  a  pretence  of  reading,  when  she  was  startled  by  her 
mother's  saying, — 

"  Cynthia!  can't  you  take  up  a  book  and  improve  yourself?  I 
am  sure  your  conversation  will  never  be  worth  listening  to,  unless 
you  read  something  better  than  newspapers.     Why  don't  you  keep 


302  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

up  your  Freuch?  There  was  some  Freucli  book  that  Molly  was 
reacliug — Le  Fiejnc  Animal,  I  think." 

"No!  I  never  read  it!"  said  Molly,  blushing.  "Mr.  Roger 
Hamley  sometimes  read  pieces  out  of  it  when  I  was  first  at  the  Hall, 
and  told  me  what  it  was  about." 

"  Oh  !  well.  Then  I  suppose  I  was  mistaken.  But  it  comes  to 
all  the  same  thing.  Cynthia,  you  really  must  leani  to  settle  yourself 
to  some  improving  reading  eveiy  morning." 

Ptather  to  Molly's  surprise,  Cynthia  did  not  reply  a  word  ;  but 
dutifully  went  and  brought  down  from  among  her  Boulogne  school- 
books,  Le  Steele  de  Louis  XIV.  But  after  a  while  Molly  saw  that 
this  "  improving  reading  "  was  just  as  much  a  mere  excuse  for 
Cynthia's  thinking  her  own  thoughts  as  the  newspaper  had  been. 


(     303     ) 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

FATHER    AND    SONS. 

Things  were  not  goiDg  on  any  Letter  at  Hamlej'  Ilall.  Nothing  had 
occurred  to  change  the  state  of  dissatisfied  feeling  into  which  the 
squire  and  his  eldest  son  had  respectively  fallen ;  and  the  long  con- 
tinuance merely  of  dissatisfaction  is  sure  of  itself  to  deepen  the 
feeling.  Roger  did  all  in  his  po\ver  to  hring  the  father  and  son 
together ;  hut  sometimes  v.'ondered  if  it  ^vould  not  have  been  better 
to  leave  them  alone ;  for  they  were  falling  into  the  habit  of  each 
making  him  their  confidant,  and  so  defining  emotions  and  opinions 
which  would  have  had  less  distinctness  if  they  had  been  unexpressed. 
There  was  little  enough  relief  in  the  daily  life  at  the  Hall  to  help 
them  aU  to  shake  off  the  gloom ;  and  it  even  told  on  the  health  of 
both  the  squire  and  Osborne.  The  squire  became  thinner,  his  skin 
as  v/ell  as  his  clothes  began  to  hang  loose  about  him,  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  his  colour  turned  to  red  streaks,  till  his  cheeks  looked  like 
Eardiston  pippins,  instead  of  resembling  "a  Kathcrino  pear  on  the 
side  that's  next  the  sun."  Roger  thought  that  his  father  sate  indoors 
and  smoked  in  his  study  more  than  was  good  for  him,  but  it  had 
become  difficult  to  get  him  far  afield ;  he  was  too  much  afraid  of 
coming  across  some  sign  of  the  discontinued  drainage  works,  or 
being  imtated  afresh  by  the  sight  of  his  depreciated  timber.  Osborae 
was  wrapt  up  in  the  idea  of  arranging  his  poems  for  the  press,  and 
so  v,orkiug  out  his  wish  for  independence.  "What  with  daily  writing 
to  his  wife — taking  his  letters  himself  to  a  distant  post-office,  and 
receiving  hers  there — touching  up  his  sonnets,  &c.,  with  fastidious 
care  ;  and  occasionally  giving  himself  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  to  the 
Gibsons,  and  enjoying  the  society  of  the  two  pleasant  girls  there,  he 
found  little  time  for  being  with  his  father.  Indeed,  Osborne  was 
too  self-indulgent  or  "  sensitive,"  as  he  termed  it,  to  bear  well  with 


30-i  "WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS.      . 

tho  squire's  gloomy  tits,  or  too  frequent  querulousness.  The  con- 
sciousness of  his  secret,  too,  made  Osborne  uncomfortable  in  his 
father's  presence.  It  was  very  well  for  all  parties  that  Roger  was 
not  "sensitive,"  for,  if  he  had  been,  there  were  times  when  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  bear  little  spurts  of  domestic  tyranny,  by  which 
his  father  strove  to  assert  his  power  over  both  his  sons.  One  of 
these  occurred  very  soon  after  the  night  of  the  Hollingford  charity- 
ball. 

Roger  had  induced  his  father  to  come  out  with  him ;  and  the 
squire  had,  on  his  son's  suggestion,  taken  with  him  his  long  unused 
spud.  The  two  had  wandered  far  afield  ;  perhaps  the  elder  man  had 
found  the  unwonted  length  of  exercise  too  much  for  him ;  for,  as  he 
approached  the  house,  on  his  return,  he  became  what  nurses  call  in 
children  "  fractious,"  and  ready  to  turn  on  his  companion  for  every 
remark  he  made.  Roger  understood  the  case  by  instinct,  as  it  were, 
and  bore  it  all  with  his  usual  sweetness  of  temper.  They  entered 
the  house  by  the  front  door ;  it  lay  straight  on  their  line  of  march. 
On  the  old  cracked  yellow-marble  slab,  there  lay  a  card  with  Lord 
Hollingford's  name  on  it,  which  Robinson,  evidently  on  the  watch 
for  their  return,  hastened  out  of  his  pantiy  to  deliver  to  Roger. 

"  His  lordship  was  very  sorry  not  to  see  you,  Mr.  Roger,  and  his 
lordship  left  a  note  for  you.  Mr.  Osborne  took  it,  I  think,  when  he 
passed  through.  I  asked  his  lordship  if  he  would  like  to  see  Mr. 
Osborne,  who  was  indoors,  as  I  thought.  But  his  lordship  said  he 
was  pressed  for  time,  and  told  me  to  make  his  excuses." 

"  Didn't  he  ask  for  me  ?  "  growled  the  squire. 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  can't  say  as  his  lordship  did.  He  would  never  have 
thought  of  Mr.  Osborne,  sir,  if  I  hadn't  named  him.  It  was  Mr. 
Roger  he  seemed  so  keen  after." 

"  Very  odd,"  said  the  squire.  Roger  said  nothing,  although  he 
naturally  felt  some  curiosity.  He  went  into  the  drawing-room,  not 
quite  aware  that  his  father  was  following  him.  Osborne  sate  at  a 
table  near  the  fire,  pen  in  hand,  looking  over  one  of  his  poems,  and 
dotting  the  ts,  crossing  the  ?'s,  and  now  and  then  pausing  over  the 
alteration  of  a  word. 

"  Oh,  Roger!"  he  said,  as  his  brother  came  in,  "here's  been 
Lord  Hollingford  wanting  to  see  you." 

*'  I  know,"  replied  Roger. 

"  And  he's  left  a  note  for  you.  Robinson  tried  to  persuade  him 
it  was  for  my  father,  so  he's  added  '  a  junior '  (Roger  Hamley,  Esq., 


FATHER   AND   SONS.  305 

junior)  iu  pencil."     The  squire  was  in  the  room  by  this  time,  and 
and  what  he  had  overheard  rubbed  him  up  still  more  the  wrong  way. 
Eogcr  took  his  unopened  note  and  read  it. 
"  What  does  he  say  ?  "  asked  the  squire, 

Eogcr  handed  him  the  note.  It  contained  an  invitation  to  dinner 
to  meet  M.  Geofiroi  St.  H.,  whose  views  on  certain  subjects  Roger  had 
been  advocating  in  the  article  Lord  HoUingford  had  spoken  about  to 
Molly,  when  he  danced  with  her  at  the  HoUingford  ball.  M.  Geofiroi 
St.  H.  was  in  England  now,  and  was  expected  to  pay  a  visit  at  the 
Towers  in  the  course  of  the  following  week.  He  had  expressed  a 
wish  to  meet  the  author  of  the  paper  which  had  already  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  French  comparative  anatomists ;  and  Lord  HoUing- 
ford added  a  few  words  as  to  his  own  desire  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  a  neighbour  whose  tastes  were  so  similar  to  his  own  ;  and  then 
followed  a  civil  message  from  Lord  and  Lady  Cumnor, 

Lord  HoUingford's  hand  was  cramped  and  rather  illegible.  The 
squire  could  not  read  it  all  at  once,  and  was  enough  put  out  to 
decline  any  assistance  in  deciphering  it.     At  last  he  made  it  out. 

"  So  my  lord  lieutenant  is  taking  some  notice  of  the  Hamleys  at 
last.  The  election  is  coming  on,  is  it  ?  But  I  can  tell  him  we're 
not  to  be  got  so  easily.  I  suppose  this  trap  is  set  for  you,  Osborne? 
What's  this  you've  been  writing  that  the  French  mounseer  is  so 
taken  with?" 

"  It  is  not  me,  sir!"  said  Osborne.  "Both  note  and  ^all  are 
for  Roger." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  the  squire.  "These  Whig  fellows 
have  never  done  their  duty  by  me  ;  not  that  I  want  it  of  them.  The 
Duke  of  Debenham  used  to  pay  the  Hamleys  a  respect  due  to  'em — 
the  oldest  landowners  in  the  county — but  since  he  died,  and  this 
shabby  Whig  lord  has  succeeded  him,  I've  never  dined  at  the  lord 
lieutenant's — no,  not  once." 

"  But  I  think,  sir,  I've  heard  you  say  Lord  Cumnor  used  to 
invite  you, — only  you  did  not  choose  to  go,"  said  Roger. 

"  Yes.  What  d'ye  mean  by  that  ?  Do  you  suppofje  I  was  going 
to  desert  the  principles  of  my  family,  and  curry  favour  with  the 
Whigs  ?  No !  leave  that  to  them.  They  can  ask  the  heir  of  the 
Hamleys  fast  enough  when  a  county  election  is  coming  on." 

"  I  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Osborae,  in  the  irritable  tone  he  some- 
times used  when  his  fiither  was  particularly  unreasonable,  "  it  is  not 
me  Lord  HoUingford  is   inviting  ;  it  is  Roger.     Roger  is  making 
Vol.  I.  20 


306  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

himself  kuowu  for  wliat  he  is,  a  first-rate  fellow,"  continued  Osborne 
— a  sting  of  self-reproach  mingling  with  his  generous  pride  in  his 
brother — "  and  he  is  getting  himself  a  name  ;  he's  been  writing 
about  these  new  French  theories  and  discoveries,  and  his  foreign 
savant  very  naturally  wants  to  make  his  acquaintance,  and  so  Lord 
Hollingford  asks  him  to  dine.  It's  as  clear  as  can  be,"  lowering  his 
tone,  and  addressing  himself  to  Roger;  "it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
politics,  if  my  father  would  but  see  it." 

Of  course  the  squire  heard  this  little  aside  with  the  unluck}*  un- 
certainty of  hearing  which  is  a  characteristic  of  the  beginning  of 
deafness ;  and  its  effect  on  him  was  perceptible  in  the  increased 
acrimony  of  his  next  speech. 

"  You  young  men  think  you  know  everything.  I  tell  you  it's  a 
palpable  Whig  trick.  And  what  business  has  Roger — if  it  is  Roger 
the  man  wants — to  go  currying  favour  with  the  French  ?  In  my 
day  we  were  content  to  hate  'em  and  to  lick  'em.  But  it's  just  like 
your  conceit,  Osborne,  setting  yourself  up  to  say  it's  your  younger 
brother  they're  asking,  and  not  you  ;  I  tell  you  it's  you.  They 
think  the  eldest  son  was  sure  to  be  called  after  his  father,  Roger — 
Roger  Hamley,  junior.  It's  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff.  They  know 
they  can't  catch  me  with  chaff,  but  they've  got  up  this  French  dodge. 
What  business  had  you  to  go  wTiting  about  the  French,  Roger  ?  I 
should  have  thought  you  were  too  sensible  to  take  any  notice  of  their 
fancies  and  theories ;  but  if  it  is  you  they've  asked,  I'll  not  have  j'ou 
going  and  meeting  these  foreigners  at  a  Whig  house.  They  ought 
to  have  asked  Osborne.  He's  the  representative  of  the  Hamleys,  if 
I'm  not ;  and  they  can't  get  me,  let  'em  try  ever  so.  Besides, 
Osborne  has  got  a  bit  of  the  mounseer  about  him,  which  he  caught 
with  being  so  fond  of  going  off  to  the  Continent,  instead  of  coming 
back  to  his  good  old  English  home." 

He  went  on  repeating  much  of  what  he  had  said  before,  till  he 
left  the  room.  Osborne  had  kept  on  replying  to  his  unreasonable 
grumblings,  which  had  only  added  to  his  auger  ;  and  as  soon  as  the 
squire  was  fairly  gone,  Osborne  turned  to  Roger,  and  said, — 

"Of  course  you'll  go,  Roger?  ten  to  one  he'li  be  in  another 
mind  to-morrow." 

"  No,"  said  Roger,  bluntly  enough — for  he  was  extremely  dis- 
appointed ;  "I  won't  run  the  chance  of  vexing  him.  I  shall 
refuse." 

"Don't  be  such  a  fool!"    exclaimed  Osborne.     "Really,  my 


FATHER  AND   SONS.  807 

father  is  too  unreasonable.     You  heard  how  he  kept  contradicting 
himself;   and  such  a  man  as  j'ou  to  be  kept  under  like  a  child 

^y — " 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it,  Osborne,"  said  Roger, 
vriting  away  fast,  "When  the  note  was  written,  and  sent  off,  he 
came  and  put  his  hand  caressingly  on  Osborne's  shoulder,  as  he  sate 
pretending  to  read,  but  in  reality  vexed  with  both  his  father  and  his 
brother,  though  on  very  different  grounds. 

"  How  go  the  poems,  old  fellow  ?  I  hope  they're  nearly  ready 
to  bring  out." 

"No,  they're  not;  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  money,  I  shouldn't 
care  if  they  v/ere  never  published.  YHiat's  the  use  of  fame,  if  one 
mayn't  reap  the  fruits  of  it  ?" 

"  Come,  now,  we'll  have  no  more  of  that;  let's  talk  about  the 
money.  I  shall  be  going  up  for  my  fellowship  examination  next 
week,  and  then  we'll  have  a  purse  in  common,  for  they'll  never  think 
of  not  giving  me  a  fellowship  nov/  I'm  senior  wrangler.  I'm  short 
enough  myself  at  present,  and  I  don't  like  to  bother  my  father  ;  but 
when  I'm  fellow,  you  shall  take  me  down  to  Winchester,  and  intro- 
duce me  to  the  little  wife." 

"  It  will  be  a  month  next  Monday  since  I  left  her,"  said  Osborne, 
laying  down  his  papers  and  gazing  into  the  lire,  as  if  by  so  doing  he 
could  call  up  her  image.  "  In  her  letter  this  morning  she  bids  me 
give  you  such  a  pretty  message.  It  won't  bear  translating  into 
English;  you  must  read  it  for  yourself,"  continued  he,  pointing  out 
a  line  or  tvro  in  a  letter  he  drew  out  of  his  pocket. 

Eoger  suspected  that  one  or  two  of  the  words  were  wrongly  spelt ; 
but  their  pui-port  Avas  so  gentle  and  loving,  and  had  such  a  touch  of 
simple,  respectful  gratitude  in  them,  that  he  could  not  help  be|ng 
drawn  afresh  to  the  little  unseen  sister-in-law,  vrhose  acquaintance 
Osborne  had  made  by  helping  her  to  look  for  seme  missing  article  of 
the  childi'en's,  vrhom  she  was  taking  for  their  daily  walk  in  Hyde 
Park.  For  Mrs.  Osborne  Hamley  had  been  nothing  more  than  a 
French  bonne,  very  pretty,  veiy  graceful,  and  very  much  tyrannized 
over  by  the  rough  little  boys  and  girls  she  had  in  charge.  She  was 
a  little  orphan  girl,  who  had  charmed  the  heads  of  a  travelling 
English  family,  as  she  brought  madame  some  articles  of  lingerie  at 
an  hotel ;  and  she  had  been  hastily  engaged  by  them  as  bonne  to 
their  children,  partly  as  a  pet  and  plaything  herself,  partly  because 
it  would  be  so  gooc>  for  the  children  to  learn  French  from  a  native 

20—2 


308  "WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

(of  Alsace!)     By-and-by  her  mistress  ceased  to  take  any  particular 
notice  of  Aimee  in  tlie  bustle  of  London  and  London  gaiety ;  but 
though  feeling  more  and  more  forlorn  in  a  strange  laud  every  day, 
the  French  girl  strove  hard  to  do  her  duty.     One  touch  of  kindness, 
however,  was  enough  to    set  the  fountain   gushing ;    and   she   and 
Osborne  naturally  fell  into  an  ideal  state  of  love,  to  be  rudely  dis- 
turbed by  the  indignation  of  the  mother,  when  accident  discovered  to 
her  the   attachment   existing  between   her  children's  bonne  and  a 
young  man  of  an  entirely  different  class.     Aimee  answered  truly  to 
all  her  mistress's  questions;  but  no  worldly  wisdom,  nor  any  lesson 
to  be  learnt  from  another's  experience,  could  in  the  least  disturb  her 
entire  faith  in  her  lover.     Perhaps  Mrs.  Townshend  did  no  more 
than  her  duty  in  immediately  sending  Aimee  back  to  ]\Ietz,  where  she 
had  first  met  with  her,  and  where  such  relations  as  remained  to  the 
girl  might  be  supposed  to  be  residing.     But,  altogether,  she  knew  so 
little  of  the  kind  of  people  or  life  to  which  she  was  consigning  her 
deposed  protegee  that  Osborne,  after  listening  Vv'ith  impatient  indig- 
nation to  the  lecture  which   ]Mrs.   Townshend  gave  him  when  he 
insisted  on  seeing  her  in  order  to  learn  what  had  become  of  his  love, 
that  the  young  man  set  oil'  straight  for  Metz  in  hot  haste,  and  did 
not  let  the  grass  grow  under  his  foot  until  he  had  made  Aimee  his 
wife.     All  this  had  occurred  the  previous  autumn,  and  Roger  did  not 
know  of  the   step  his  brother  had  taken  until  it  was  irrevocable. 
Then  came  the  mother's  death,  M'hich,  besides  the  simplicity  of  its 
own  overwhelming   sorrow,  brought  with  it  the  loss   of  the   kind, 
tender  mediatrix,  who  could  always  soften  and  turn  his  fixthcr's  heart. 
It  is  doubtful,  however,  if  even  she  could  have  succeeded  in  this,  for 
the  squire  looked  high,  and  over  high,  for  the  wife  of  his  heir ;  he 
detested  all  foreigners,  and  over-more  held  all  Roman  Catholics  in 
dread  and  abomination  something  akin  to  our  ancestors'  hatred  of 
witchcraft.      All  these   prejudices   were   strengthened  by  his   grief. 
Argument  would  always  have  glanced  harmless  away  off  his  shield  of 
utter  unreason  ;  but  a  loving  impulse,  in  a  happy  moment,  might 
have  softened  his  heart  to  what  he  most  detested  in  the  former  days. 
But  the  happy  moments  came  not  now,  and  the  loving  impulses  were 
trodden  down  by  the  bitterness  of  his  frequent  remorse,  not  less  than 
by  his  growing  irritability  ;  so  Aimee  lived  solitary  in  the  little  cot- 
tage near  AViuchester  in  which  Osborne  had  installed  her  when  she 
first  came  to  England  as  his  wife,  and  in  the  dainty  furnishing  of 
which  he  had  run  himself  so  deeply  into  debt.     For  Osborne  con- 


J  FATHER   AND   SOXS.  309 

suited  his  own  fastidious  taste  iu  liis  purchases  rather  than  her 
siiuiile  chihllike  wishes  and  wants,  aud  looked  upon  the  little  French- 
Tvoinau  rather  as  the  future  mistress  of  Hamley  Hall  thau  as  the  wife 
of  a  man  who  was  wholly  dependent  on  others  at  present.  He  had 
chosen  a  southern  county  as  being  far  removed  from  those  midland 
shires  where  the  name  of  Hamley  of  Hamley  was  well  and  widely 
known  ;  for  he  did  not  wish  his  wife  to  assume  only  for  a  time  a 
name  which  was  not  justly  and  legally  her  own.  In  all  these 
arrangements  he  had  willingly  striven  to  do  his  full  duty  by  her ; 
aud  she  repaid  him  with  passionate  devotion  aud  admiring  reverence. 
If  his  vanity  had  met  with  a  check,  or  his  worthy  desires  for  college 
honours  had  been  disappointed,  he  knew  where  to  go  for  a  comforter ; 
one  who  poured  out  praise  till  her  words  were  choked  in  her  throat 
by  the  rapidity  of  her  thoughts,  and  who  poured  out  the  small  vials 
of  her  indignation  on  every  one  who  did  not  acknowledge  aud  bow 
down  to  her  husband's  merits.  If  she  ever  wished  to  go  to  the 
chateau — that  was  his  home — and  to  be  introduced  to  his  family, 
Aimee  never  hinted  a  word  of  it  to  him.  Only  she  did  yearn,  and 
she  did  plead,  for  a  little  more  of  her  husband's  company ;  aud  the 
good  reasons  which  had  convinced  her  of  the  necessity  of  his  being 
so  much  away  when  he  was  present  to  urge  them,  failed  in  their 
efhcaey  when  she  tried  to  reproduce  them  to  herself  iu  his  absence. 

The  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  Lord  Hollingford  called, 
Roger  was  going  upstairs,  three  steps  at  a  time,  when,  at  a  turn  on 
the  landing,  he  encountered  his  father.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
seen  him  since  their  conversation  about  the  Towers'  invitation  to 
dinner.  The  squire  stopped  his  son  by  standing  right  in  the  middle 
of  the  passage. 

"  Thou'rt  going  to  meet  the  mounsecr  my  lad  ?"  said  he,  half  as 
affirmation,  half  as  question. 

"No,  sir;  I  sent  off  James  almost  immediately  with  a  note 
declining  it.     I  don't  care  about  it — that's  to  say,  not  to  signify." 

"  Why  did  you  take  me  up  so  shai-p,  Eoger?  said  his  father 
pettishly.  "  You  all  take  me  up  so  hastily  now-a-days.  I  think  it's 
hard  when  a  man  mustn't  be  allowed  a  bit  of  crossness  when  he's 
tired  and  heavy  at  heart — that  I  do." 

"  But,  father,  I  should  never  like  to  go  to  a  house  where  they 
had  slighted  you." 

"  Nay,  noy,  lad,"  said  the  squire,  brightening  up  a  little;  "I 
think  I  slighted  them.     They  asked  me  to  dinner,  after  my  lord  was 


310  WIVES  a?:d  daughters. 

made  lieutenant,  time  after  time,  but  I  never  would  go  near  'em.  I 
call  that  my  slighting  them." 

And  no  more  was  said  at  tlio  time ;  but  the  next  day  the  squire 
again  stopped  Eoger. 

"  I've  been  making  Jem  try  ou  his  livery-coat  that  he  hasn't 
worn  this  three  or  four  years, — he's  got  too  stout  for  it  now." 

"  Well,  he  needn't  wear  it,  need  he  ?  and  Dawson's  lad  will  be 
glad  enough  of  it, — he's  sadly  in  want  of  clothes." 

"  Ay,  ay ;  but  who's  to  go  with  you  when  you  call  at  the  Towers  ? 
It's  but  polite  to  call  after  Lord  What's-his-name  has  taken  the 
trouble  to  come  here ;  and  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  go  without  a 
groom." 

"My  dear  father!  I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do  Avith  a  man 
riding  at  my  back.  I  can  find  my  way  to  the  stable-yard  for  myself, 
or  there'll  be  some  man  about  to  take  my  horse.  Don't  trouble 
yourself  about  that." 

"  Yv'ell,  you're  not  Osborne,  to  be  sure.  Perhaps  it  won't  strike 
'em  as  strange  for  you.  But  you  must  look  up,  and  hold  your  own, 
and  remember  you're  one  of  the  Hamley's,  who've  been  on  the  same 
land  for  hundreds  of  years,  while  they're  but  trumpery  Whig  folk 
who  only  came  into  the  county  in  Queen  Anne's  time." 


(     311     ) 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

RIVALRY. 

FoK  some  clays  after  the  ball  Cynthia  seemed  languid,  and  was  very 
silent.  Molly,  who  had  promised  herself  fully  as  much  enjoyment  in 
talking  over  the  past  gaiety  \Yith  Cynthia  as  in  the  evening  itself,  was 
disappointed  when  she  found  that  all  conversation  on  the  subject  was 
rather  evaded  than  encouraged.  Mrs.  Gibson,  it  is  true,  was  ready 
to  go  over  the  ground  as  many  times  as  any  one  liked  ;  but  her 
words  were  always  like  ready-made  clothes,  and  never  fitted  indi- 
vidual thoughts.  Anybody  might  have  used  them,  and,  with  a 
change  of  proper  names,  they  might  have  served  to  describe  any  ball. 
She  repeatedly  used  the  same  language  in  speaking  about  it,  till 
Molly  knew  the  sentences  and  their  sequence  even  to  irritation. 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Osborne,  you  should  have  been  there  !     I  said  to  my- 
self many  a  time  how  you  really  should  have  been  there — you  and 
your  brother,  of  course." 
*"       "I  thought  of  you  very  often  during  the  evening  !  " 

"  Did  you  '?  Now  that  I  call  very  kind  of  you.  Cynthia,  darling  ! 
Do  you  hear  what  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley  was  saying?"  as  Cynthia 
came  into  the  room  just  then.  "  He  thought  of  us  all  on  the 
evening  of  the  ball." 

"  He  did  better  than  merely  remember  us  then,"  said  Cj-nthia, 
with  her  soft  slow  smile.  "  We  owe  him  thanks  for  those  beautiful 
flowers,  mamma." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Osborne,  "  you  must  not  thank  me  exclusively.  I 
believe  it  was  my  thought,  but  Roger  took  all  the  trouble  of  it." 

"I  consider  the  thought  as  everything,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson. 
Thought  is  spiritual,  while  action  is  merely  material." 

This  fine  sentence  took  the  speaker  herself  by  surprise  ;  and  in 
such  conversation  as  was  then  going  on,  it  is  not  necessary  to  accu- 
rately define  the  meaning  of  everything  that  is  said. 


312  WIVES   AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  I'm  afraiil  tlie  flowers  were  too  late  to  be  of  mucli  use,  tliougli," 
coutinuecl  Osborne.  "I  met  Preston  tbo  next  morning,  and  of 
course  we  talked  about  tlic  half.  I  was  sorry  to  find  be  bad  been 
beforeband  with  us." 

"  He  only  sent  one  nosegay,  and  tbat  was  for  Cyntbia,"  said  Molly, 
looking  up  ffom  ber  work.  *' And  it  did  not  come  till  after  Ave  bad 
received  tbe  flowers  from  Hamley."  Molly  caugbt  a  sigbt  of  Cyntbia's 
face  before  sbo  bent  down  again  to  ber  sewing.  It  was  scarlet  in 
colour,  and  tbere  was  a  flasb  of  auger  in  ber  eyes.  Botb  sbe  and  ber 
motber  bastcncd  to  speak  as  soon  as  Molly  bad  finisbed,  but  Cyntbia's 
voice  was  cbokcd  witb  passion,  and  Mrs.  Gibson  bad  tbe  word, 

"Mr.  Preston's  bouquet  was  just  one  of  tbose  formal '  affairs 
any  one  can  buy  at  a  nursery-garden,  wliicb  always  strike  me  as 
baviug  no  sentiment  in  tbem.  I  would  far  ratber  bave  two  or  tbree 
lilies  of  tbe  valley  gatbcred  for  me  by  a  person  I  like,  tbau  tbe  most 
expensive  bouquet  tbat  could  be  bouglit !  " 

"  Mr,  Preston  bad  no  business  to  speak  as  if  be  bad  forestalled 
you,"  said  Cyntbia,  "It  came  just  as  we  were  ready  to  go,  and  I 
put  it  into  tbe  fire  directly." 

"  Cyntbia,  my  dear  love  !  "  said  Mrs.  Gibson  (wbo  bad  never 
heard  of  tbe  fate  of  tbe  flowers  until  now),  "  wbat  an  idea  of  yourself 
you  will  give  to  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley ;  but  to  be  sure,  I  can  quite 
understand  it.  You  inberit  my  feeling — my  prejudice — sentimental 
I  grant,  against  bougbt  flowers," 

Cyntbia  was  silent  for  a  moment;  tben  sbo  said,  "  I  used  some 
of  your  flov/crs,  Mr,  Hamley  to  dress  Molly's  bair.  It  was  a  great 
temptation,  for  tbe  colour  so  exactly  matcbed  ber  coral  ornaments  ; 
but  I  believe  sbe  tbougbt  it  treacherous  to  disturb  tbe  arrangement, 
so  I  ought  to  take  all  tbe  blame  on  myself." 

"  Tbe  arrangement  was  my  brother's,  as  I  told  you  ;  but  I  am 
sure  he  would  have  preferred  seeing  tbem  iu  Miss  Gibson's  bair 
ratber  than  in  the  blazing  fire.  Mr.  Preston  comes  far  tbe  worst 
cflT."  Osborne  was  rather  amused  at  the  whole  affair,  and  would 
have  liked  to  probe  Cynthia's  motives  a  little  farther.  He  did 
not  hear  Molly  saying  iu  as  soft  a  voice  as  if  she  were  talking  to 
herself,  "  I  wore  mine  just  as  they  were  sent,"  for  Mrs.  Gibson 
came  in  with  a  total  change  of  subject. 

"  Speaking  of  lilies  of  the  valley,  is  it  true  that  they  grow  wild  in 
Hurst  Wood  ?  It  is  not  the  season  for  them  to  be  in  flower  yet ;  but 
when  it  is,  I  think  we  must  take  a  walk  tbere — with  our  luncheon  in 


RIVALRY.  813 

a  basket — a  little  picuic  iu  fact.  You'll  join  us,  v/ou't  jou  ?"  turuiug 
to  Osborue.  "  I  tliiuk  it's  a  charming  plan  !  You  could  ride  to 
Holliugford  and  put  up  your  horse  here,  and  we  could  have  a  long 
day  in  the  woods  and  all  come  home  to  dinner — dinner  with  a  basket 
of  lilies  in  the  middle  of  the  table  !  " 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  said  Osborne  ;  "  but  I  may  not  bo 
at  home.  Koger  is  more  likely  to  be  here,  I  believe,  at  that  time — 
a  month  hence."  He  was  thinking  of  the  visit  to  London  to  sell  his 
poems,  and  the  run  down  to  AYiuchester  which  he  anticipated  after- 
wards— the  end  of  May  had  been  the  period  fixed  for  this  pleasure 
for  soijie  time,  not  merely  in  his  ovrn  mind,  but  in  writing  to  his  wife. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  be  with  lis  !  "We  must  wait  for  Mr,  Osborne 
Hamley,  must  not  we,  Cynthia  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  the  lilies  won't  wait,"  replied  Cynthia. 

"  Well,  then,  we  must  put  it  off  till  dog-rose  and  honeysuckle 
time.  You  will  be  at  home  then,  won't  you  ?  or  docs  the  London 
season  present  too  many  attractions  ?" 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  when  dog-roses  are  in  flovrer ! " 

"  Not  know,  and  you  a  poet  ?     Don't  you  remember  the  lines — 

It  was  tlie  time  of  roses, 

We  plucked  them  as  we  went  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  that  doesn't  specify  the  time  of  year  that  is  the  time 
of  roses  ;  and  I  believe  my  movements  are  guided  more  by  the  lunar 
calendar  than  the  floral.  You  had  better  take  my  brother  for  your 
companion ;  he  is  practical  in  his  love  of  flowers,  I  am  only 
theoretical." 

"  Does  that  fine  word  '  theoretical'  imply  that  you  are  ignorant?' 
asked  Cynthia. 

"  Of  course  we  shall  be  happy  to  see  your  brother ;  but  why 
can't  we  have  you  too  ?  I  confess  to  a  little  timidity  in  the  presence 
of  one  so  deep  and  learned  as  your  brother  is  from  all  accounts.  Give 
me  a  little  charming  ignorance,  if  we  must  call  it  by  that  hard  word." 

Osborne  bowed.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  him  to  be  petted  and 
flattered,  even  though  he  knew  all  the  time  that  it  was  only  flattery. 
It  was  an  agreeable  contrast  to  the  home  that  was  so  dismal  to  him, 
to  come  to  this  house,  where  the  society  of  two  agreeable  girls,  and 
the  soothing  syrup  of  their  mother's  speeches,  awaited  him  whenever 
he  liked  to  come.  To  say  nothing  of  the  difi'erence  that  struck  upon 
his   senses,  poetical  though  he  might  esteem  himself,  of  a  sitting- 


314  WIVES   A^B   DAUGHTERS. 

room  fall  of  flowers,  and  tokens  of  women's  presence,  where  all  the 
chairs  were  easy,  and  all  the  tables  well  covered  with  pretty  things, 
to  the  great  drawing-room  at  home  ;  where  the  draperies  were  thread- 
hare,  and  the  seats  uncomfortable,  and  no  sign  of  feminine  presence 
ever  now  lent  a  grace  to  the  stift'  arrangement  of  the  furniture. 
Then  the  meals,  light  and  well-cooked,  suited  his  taste  and  delicate 
appetite  so  much  better  than  the  rich  and  hea\y  viands  prepared  by 
the  servants  at  the  hall.  Osborne  was  becoming  a  little  afraid  of 
falling  into  the  habit  of  paying  too  frequent  visits  to  the  Gibsons 
(and  that,  not  because  he  feared  the  consequences  of  his  intercourse 
with  the  two  young  ladies  ;  for  he  never  thought  of  them  excepting 
as  friends; — the  fixct  of  his  marriage  was  constantly  present  to  his 
mind,  and  Aimeo  too  securely  cntlironed  in  his  heart,  for  him  to 
remember  that  he  might  be  looked  upon  by  others  in  the  light  of  a 
possible  husband) ;  but  the  reflection  forced  itself  upon  him  occa- 
sionally, whether  he  was  not  trespassing  too  often  on  hospitality 
which  he  had  at  present  no  means  of  returning. 

But  Mrs.  Gibson,  in  her  ignorance  of  the  true  state  of  afiairs, 
was  secretly  exultant  in  the  attraction  which  made  him  come  so  often 
and  lounge  away  the  hours  in  her  house  and  garden.  She  had  no 
doubt  that  it  was  Cpithia  who  drew  him  thither ;  and  if  the  latter 
had  been  a  little  more  amenable  to  reason,  her  mother  would  have 
made  more  frequent  allusions  than  she  did  to  the  crisis  which  she 
thought  was  approachnig.  But  she  was  restrained  by  the  intuitive 
conviction  that  if  her  daughter  became  conscious  of  what  was 
impending,  and  was  made  aware  of  Mrs.  Gibson's  cautious  and 
quiet  efforts  to  forward  the  catastrophe,  the  wilful  girl  would  oppose 
herself  to  it  v.ith  all  her  skill  and  power.  As  it  was,  Mrs.  Gibson 
trusted  that  Cynthia's  affections  would  become  engaged  before  she 
knew  where  she  was,  and  that  in  that  case  she  would  not  attempt  to 
frustrate  her  mother's  delicate  scheming,  even  though  she  did  per- 
ceive it.  But  Cjmthia  had  come  across  too  many  varieties  of  flirta- 
tion, admiration,  and  even  passionate  love,  to  be  for  a  moment  at 
fault  as  to  the  quiet  friendly  nature  of  Osborne's  attentions.  She 
received  him  always  as  a  sister  might  a  brother.  It  vras  different 
when  Koger  returned  from  his  election  as  fellow  of  Trinity.  The 
trembling  diffidence,  the  hardly  suppressed  ardour  of  his  manner, 
made  Cynthia  understand  before  long  with  what  kind  of  love  she 
had  now  to  deal.  She  did  not  put  it  into  so  many  words — no,  not 
even  in  her  secret  heart — but  she  recoqnized  the  difference  between 


laVALRY.  815 

Roger's  relation  to  her  ami  Osborae's  long  before  Mrs.  Gibson  found 
it  out.  Molly  was,  however,  the  first  to  discover  the  nature  of 
Roger's  attention.  The  first  time  they  saw  him  after  the  ball,  it 
came  out  to  her  observant  eyes.  Cynthia  had  not  been  looking  well 
since  that  evening  ;  she  went  slowly  about  the  house,  pale  and 
heavy-eyed  ;  and,  fond  as  she  usually  was  of  exercise  and  the  free 
fresh  ail",  there  was  hardly  any  persuading  her  now  to  go  out  for  a 
walk.  Molly  watched  this  fading  with  tender  anxiety,  but  to  all  her 
questions  as  to  whether  she  had  felt  over-fatigued  with  her  dancing, 
Vthether  an}-thing  had  occurred  to  annoy  her,  and  all  such  inquiries, 
she  replied  in  languid  negatives.  Once  Molly  touched  on  Mr.  Preston's 
name,  and  found  that  this  was  a  subject  on  which  Cynthia  was  raw  ; 
now,  Cynthia's  face  lighted  up  with  spiiit,  and  her  whole  body 
showed  her  ill-repressed  agitation,  but  she  only  said  a  few  sharp 
words,  expressive  of  anything  but  kindly  feeling  tov%"ards  the 
gentleman,  and  then  bade  Molly  never  name  his  name  to  her  again. 
Still,  the  latter  could  not  imagine  that  he  was  more  than  intensely 
distasteful  to  her  friend,  as  well  as  to  herself ;  he  could  not  be  the 
cause  of  Cyntliia's  present  indisposition.  But  this  indisposition 
lasted  so  many  days  without  change  or  modification,  that  even 
Mrs.  Gibson  noticed  it,  and  Molly  became  positively  uneasy.  Mrs. 
Gibson  considered  Cynthia's  quietness  and  languor  as  the  natural 
consequence  of  "  dancing  with  everybody  who  asked  her"  at  the  ball. 
Partners  whose  names  were  in  the  "Red  Rook"  would  not  have 
produced  half  the  amount  of  fatigue,  according  to  Mrs.  Gibson's 
judgment  apparently,  and  if  Cynthia  had  been  quite  well,  very  pro- 
bably she  would  have  hit  the  blot  in  her  mother's  speech  with  one  of 
her  touches  of  sarcasm.  Then,  again,  when  Cynthia  did  not  rally, 
Mrs.  Gibson  grew  impatient,  and  accused  her  of  being  fanciful  ^nd 
lazy;  at  length,  and  partly  at  Molly's  instance,  there  came  an  appeal 
to  Mr.  Gibson,  and  a  professional  examination  of  the  supposed 
invalid,  which  Cj^nthia  hated  more  than  anything,  especially  when 
the  verdict  was,  that  there  was  nothing  veiT  much  the  matter,  only 
a  general  lowness  of  tone,  and  depression  of  health  and  spirits, 
which  would  soon  be  remedied  by  tonics,  and,  meanwhile,  she  was 
not  to  be  roused  to  exertion. 

"If  there  is  one  thing  I  dislike,"  said  Cynthia  to  Mr.  Gibson, 
after  he  had  pronounced  tonics  to  be  the  cure  for  her  present  state, 
"  it  is  the  way  doctors  have  of  giving  tablespoonfuls  of  nauseous 
mixtures  as  a  certain  remedy  for  sorrows  and  cares."     She  laughed 


316  WI7ES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

up  in  his  face  as  slie  spoke ;  she  had  always  a  pretty  word  and  smile 
for  him,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  loss  of  spirits. 

"  Come  !  you  acknowledge  you  have  '  sorrows  '  by  that  speech  : 
we'll  make  a  bargain :  if  you'll  tell  me  your  sorrows  and  cares,  I'll 
try  and  find  some  other  remedy  for  them  than  giving  you  what  you 
are  pleased  to  term  my  nauseous  mixtures." 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia,  colouring ;  "  I  never  said  I  had  sorrows  and 
cares  ;  I  spoke  generally.  "What  should  I  have  a  sorrow  about  ? — 
you  and  Molly  are  only  too  kind  to  me,"  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

*'  Well,  well,  we'll  not  talk  of  such  gloomy  things,  and  you  shall 
have  some  sweet  emulsion  to  disguise  the  taste  of  the  bitters  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  fall  back  upon." 

*'  Please,  don't.  If  you  but  knew  how  I  dislike  emulsions  and 
disguises  !  I  do  want  bitters — and  if  I  sometimes — if  I'm  obliged 
to — if  I'm  not  truthful  myself,  I  do  like  truth  in  others — at  least, 
sometimes."  She  ended  her  sentence  with  another  smile,  but  it  was 
rather  faint  and  watery. 

Now  the  first  person  out  of  the  house  to  notice  Cynthia's  change 
of  look  and  manner  was  Roger  Hamley — and  yet  he  did  not  see  her 
until,  under  the  influence  of  the  nauseous  mixture,  she  was  begin- 
ning to  recover.  But  his  eyes  were  scarcely  off  her  during  the  first 
five  minutes  he  was  in  the  room.  All  the  time  he  was  trying  to  talk 
to  Mrs.  Gibson  in  reply  to  her  civil  platitudes,  he  was  studying 
Cynthia ;  and  at  the  first  convenient  pause  he  came  and  stood  before 
Molly,  so  as  to  interpose  his  person  between  her  and  the  rest  of  the 
room ;  for  some  visitors  had  come  in  subsequent  to  his  entrance. 

"  Molly,  how  ill  your  sister  is  looking  !  What  is  it  ?  Has  she  had 
advice  ?  You  must  forgive  me,  but  so  often  those  who  live  together 
in  the  same  house  don't  observe  the  first  approaches  of  illness." 

Now  Molly's  love  for  Cynthia  was  fast  and  unwavering,  but  if 
anything  tried  it,  it  was  the  habit  Roger  had  fallen  into  of  always 
calling  Cynthia  Molly's  sister  in  speaking  to  the  latter.  From  any 
one  else  it  would  have  been  a  matter  of  indiflerence  to  her,  and 
hardly  to  be  noticed ;  it  vexed  both  ear  and  heart  when  Roger  used 
the  expression ;  and  there  was  a  curtuess  of  manner  as  well  as  of 
words  in  her  reply. 

"  Oh!  she  was  over-tired  by  the  ball.  Papa  has  seen  her,  and 
says  she  will  be  all  right  very  soon." 

*' I  wonder  if  she  wants  change  of  air?"  said  Roger,  medita- 
tively.    "  I  wish — I  do  wish  we  could  have  her  at  the  Hall ;  you 


RIVALRY.  317 

and  your  motlier  too,  of  course.  But  I  clou't  see  how  it  would  bo 
possible — or  else  how  charming  it  would  be! " 

Molly  felt  as  if  a  visit  to  the  Hall  under  such  circumstances 
would  be  altogether  so  different  an  affiiir  to  all  her  former  ones,  that 
she  could  hardly  tell  if  she  should  like  it  or  not. 

Roger  went  on, — 

"  You  got  our  flowers  in  time,  did  j'ou  not  ?  Ah  !  you  don't  hnow 
how  often  I  thought  of  you  that  evening !  And  you  enjoyed  it  too, 
didn't  you  ? — you  had  plenty  of  agreeable  partners,  and  all  that  makes 
a  first  ball  delightful  ?    I  heard  that  your  sister  danced  every  dance." 

"It  was  very  pleasant,"  said  Molly,  quietly.  "But,  after  all, 
I'm  not  sure  if  I  want  to  go  to  another  just  yet ;  there  seems  to  be 
so  much  trouble  connected  with  a  ball." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  thinking  of  your  sister,  and  her  not  being  well  ?" 

"  No,  I  was  not,"  said  Molly,  rather  bluntly.  "  I  was  thinking 
of  the  dress,  and  the  dressing,  and  the  weariness  the  next  day." 

He  might  think  her  unfeeling  if  he  liked ;  she  felt  as  if  she  had 
only  too  much  feeling  just  then,  for  it  was  bringing  on  her  a 
strange  contraction  of  heart.  But  he  was  too  inherently  good  him- 
self to  put  any  harsh  construction  on  her  speech.  Just  before  he 
went  away,  while  he  was  ostensibly  holding  her  hand  and  wishing  her 
good-by,  he  said  to  her  in  a  voice  too  low  to  be  generally  heard, — 

"  Is  there  anything  I  could  do  for  your  sister  ?  We  have  plenty 
of  books,  as  you  know,  if  she  cares  for  reading."  Then,  receiving 
no  affirmative  look  or  word  from  Molly  in  reply  to  this  suggestion, 
he  went  on, — "  Or  flowers  ?  she  Hkes  flowers.  Oh!  and  our  forced 
strawberries  are  just  ready — I  will  bring  some  over  to-morrow." 

"  I  am  sure  she  will  like  them,"  said  Molly. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  unknown  to  the  Gibsons,  a  longer 
interval  than  usual  occurred  between  Osborne's  visits,  while  R6ger 
came  almost  every  day,  always  with  some  fresh  offering  by  which  he 
openly  sought  to  relieve  Cynthia's  indisposition,  as  far  as  it  lay  in 
his  power.  Her  manner  to  him  was  so  gentle  and  gracious  that 
Mrs.  Gibson  became  alarmed,  lest,  in  spite  of  his  "  uncouthness  " 
(as  she  was  pleased  to  term  it),  he  might  come  to  be  preferred  to 
Osborne,  who  was  so  strangely  neglecting  his  own  interests,  in 
Mrs.  Gibson's  opinion.  In  her  quiet  way,  she  contrived  to  pass 
many  slights  upon  Roger ;  but  the  darts  rebounded  from  his  generous 
nature  that  could  not  have  imagined  her  motives,  and  fastened  them- 
selves on  Molly.     She  had  often  been  called  naughty  and  passionate 


818  "WIVES   AIsD   DAUGHTEllS. 

■when  she  was  a  cliild ;  and  slie  thought  now  that  she  began  to 
'anilei'staud  that  she  really  had  a  violent  temper.  What  seemed 
neither  to  hurt  Roger  nor  annoy  Cynthia  made  Molly's  blood  boil ; 
and  now  she  had  once  discovered  Mrs.  Gibson's  wish  to  make 
Roger's  visits  shorter  and  less  frequent,  she  was  always  on  the 
watch  for  indications  of  this  desire.  She  read  her  stepmother's 
heart  v/hen  the  latter  made  allusions  to  the  squire's  weakness,  now 
that  Osborne  was  absent  from  the  Hall,  and  that  Roger  was  so  often 
a,way  among  his  friends  during  the  day, — 

' '  Mr.  Gibson  and  I  should  be  so  delighted  if  you  could  have 
stopped  to  dinner ;  but,  of  course,  we  cannot  be  so  selfish  as  to  ask 
you  to  stay  when  we  remember  how  your  father  would  be  left  alone. 
We  were  saying  yesterday  we  wondered  how  he  bore  his  solitude, 
poor  old  gentleman  !  " 

Or,  as  soon  as  Roger  came  with  his  bunch  of  early  roses,  it  was 
desirable  for  Cynthia  to  go  and  rest  in  her  own  room,  while  Molly 
had  to  accompany  Mrs.  Gibson  on  some  improvised  eiTand  or  call. 
Still  Roger,  whose  object  was  to  give  pleasure  to  Cynthia,  and  who 
had,  from  his  boyhood,  been  ahvays  certain  of  Mr.  Gibson's  friendly 
regard,  was  slow  to  perceive  that  he  was  not  wanted.  If  he  did  not 
see  Cynthia,  that  was  his  loss ;  at  any  rate,  he  heard  how  she  was, 
and  left  her  some  little  thing  v/hich  he  believed  she  would  like,  and 
Avas  willing  to  risk  the  chance  of  his  oaati  gratification  by  calling  four 
or  five  times  in  the  hope  of  seeing  her  once.  At  last  there  came  a 
day  when  Mrs.  Gibson  went  beyond  her  usual  negative  snubbiness, 
and  when,  in  some  unwonted  fit  of  crossness,  for  she  was  a  very 
placid-tempered  person  in  general,  she  was  guilty  of  positive 
rudeness. 

Cynthia  was  very  much  better.  Tonics  had  ministered  to  a  mind 
diseased,  though  she  hated  to  acknowledge  it ;  her  pretty  bloom  and 
much  of  her  light-heartedness  had  come  back,  and  there  was  no 
cause  remaining  for  anxiety.  Mrs.  Gibson  was  sitting  at  her  em- 
broidery in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  two  girls  were  at  the  window, 
Cynthia  laughing  at  Molly's  earnest  endeavours  to  imitate  the 
French  accent  in  which  the  former  had  been  reading  a  page  of 
Voltaire.  For  the  duty,  or  the  farce,  of  settling  to  "  improving 
reading  "  in  the  mornings  was  still  kept  up  although  Lord  Holling- 
ford,  the  unconscious  suggester  of  the  idea,  had  gone  back  to  town 
without  making  any  of  the  eflbrts  to  see  Molly  again  that  Mrs. 
Gibson   anticipated  on   the   night   of   the   ball.      That   Alnaschar 


RIVALRY.  319 

vision  had  fallen  to  tlic  grountl.  It  was  as  yet  early  morning;  a 
<lelicious,  fresh,  lovely  Juno  day,  the  air  redded  with  the  scents  of 
flower-growth  and  bloom ;  and  half  the  time  the  girls  had  been 
ostensibly  employed  in  the  French  reading  they  had  been  leaning 
out  of  the  open  window  trying  to  reach  a  cluster  of  chmbing  roses. 
They  had  secured  them  at  last,  and  the  buds  lay  on  Cynthia's  lap, 
but  many  of  the  petals  had  fallen  off;  so,  though  the  perfume  lingered 
about  the  window- seat,  the  full  beauty  of  the  flowers  had  passed, 
away.  Mrs.  Gibson  had  once  or  twice  reproved  them  for  the  merry 
noise  they  were  making,  which  hindered  her  in  the  business  of  count- 
ing the  stitches  in  her  pattern;  and  she  had  set  herself  a  certain 
quantity  to  do  that  morning  before  going  out,  and  was  of  that  nature 
which  attaches  infinite  importance  to  fulfilling  small  resolutions, 
made  about  indifferent  trifles  without  any  reason  whatever. 

"  Mr,  Roger  Hamley,"  was  announced.  "  So  tiresome  ! "  said 
Mrs.  Gibson,  almost  in  his  hearing,  as  she  pushed  away  her  em- 
broidery frame.  She  put  out  her  cold,  motionless  hand  to  him,  with 
a  half-murmured  word  of  welcome,  still  ej'mg  her  lost  embroider}-. 
He  took  no  apparent  notice,  and  passed  on  to  the  window. 

"How  delicious!"  said  he.  "No  need  for  any  more  Hamley 
roses  now  yours  are  out." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  replying  to  him  before 
either  Cynthia  or  Molly  could  speak,  though  he  addressed  his  words 
to  them.  "  You  have  been  very  kind  in  bringing  us  flowers  so  long ; 
but  now  our  own  are  out  we  need  not  trouble  you  any  more." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  little  siu'prise  clouding  his  honest  face; 
it  was  perhaps  more  at  the  tone  than  the  words.  Mrs.  Gibson, 
however,  had  been  bold  enough  to  strike  the  first  blow,  and  she 
determined  to  go  on  as  opportunity  offered.  Molly  would  perhaps 
have  been  more  pained  if  she  had  not  seen  Cynthia's  colour  rise. 
She  waited  for  her  to  speak,  if  need  were  ;  for  she  knew  that  Roger's 
defence,  if  defence  were  required,  might  be  safely  entrusted  to 
Cynthia's  ready  wit. 

He  put  out  his  hand  for  the  shattered  cluster  of  roses  that  lay 
in  Cynthia's  lap, 

"At  any  rate,"  said  he,  "  my  trouble — if  Mrs,  Gibson  considers 
it  has  been  a  trouble  to  me — will  be  over-paid,  if  I  may  have  this." 

"  Old  lamps  for  new,"  said  C^Tithia,  smiling  'as  she  gave  it  to 
him.  "  I  wish  one  could  always  buy  nosegays  such  as  you  have 
brought  us,  as  cheaply." 


320  VriYES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  You  forget  the  waste  of  time  that,  I  think,  wc  must  reckon  as 
part  of  the  payment,"  said  her  mother.  "  Really,  Mr.  Hamley,  we 
must  learn  to  shut  our  doors  on  you  if  you  come  so  often,  and  at 
such  early  hours  !  I  settle  myself  to  my  own  employment  regularly 
after  breakfast  till  lunch-time ;  and  it  is  my  wish  to  keep  Cynthia 
and  Molly  to  a  course  of  improving  reading  and  study — so  desirable 
for  young  people  of  their  age,  if  they  are  ever  to  become  intelligent, 
companionable  women ;  but  with  early  visitors  it  is  quite  impossible 
to  observe  any  regularity  of  habits." 

All  this  was  said  in  that  sweet,  false  tone  which  of  late  had  gone 
through  Molly  like  the  scraping  of  a  slate-pencil  on  a  slate.  Roger's 
face  changed.  His  ruddy  colour  grew  paler  for  a  moment,  and  he 
looked  grave  and  not  pleased.  In  another  moment  the  wonted 
frankness  of  expression  returned.  Why  should  not  he,  he  asked 
himself,  believe  her  ?  it  was  early  to  call ;  it  did  interrupt  regular 
occupation.     So  he  spoke,  and  said, — 

"  I  believe  I  have  been  very  thoughtless — I'll  not  come  so  early 
again  ;  but  I  had  some  excuse  to-day  :  my  brother  told  me  you  had 
made  a  plan  for  going  to  see  Hurstwood  when  the  roses  were  out, 
and  they  are  earlier  than  usual  this  year — I've  been  round  to  see. 
He  spoke  of  a  long  day  there,  going  before  lunch " 

"  The  plan  was  made  with  Mr.  Osborne  Hamley.  I  could  not 
think  of  going  without  him  !  "  said  Mrs.  Gibson,  coldly, 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  him  this  morning,  in  which  he  named  your 
wish,  and  he  says  he  fears  he  cannot  be  at  home  till  they  are  out  of 
flower.  I  daresay  they  are  not  much  to  see  in  reality,  but  the  day 
is  so  lovely  I  thought  that  the  plan  of  going  to  Hurstwood  would  be 
a  charming  excuse  for  being  out  of  doors." 

"  Thank  you.  How  kind  you  are  !  and  so  good,  too,  in  sacrificing 
your  natural  desire  to  be  with  your  father  as  much  as  possible." 

"  I  am  glad  to  say  my  father  is  so  much  better  than  he  was  in 
the  winter  that  he  spends  much  of  his  time  out  of  doors  in  his  fields. 
He  has  been  accustomed  to  go  about  alone,  and  I — we  think  that  as 
great  a  return  to  his  former  habits  as  he  can  be  induced  to  make  is 
the  best  for  him." 

"  And  when  do  you  return  to  Cambridge  ?  " 

There  v.'as  some  hesitation  in  Roger's  manner  as  he  replied, — 

"It  is  uncertain.  You  probably  know  that  I  am  a  fellow  of 
Trinity  now.  I  hardly  yet  know  what  my  future  plans  may  be  ;  I  am 
thinking  of  going  up  to  London  soon.'' 


RIVALRY.  821 

"  All !  Loudon  is  the  true  place  for  a  young  man,"  said  IMrs. 
Gibson,  with  decision,  as  if  she  had  reflected  a  good  deal  on  the 
question.  "If  it  were  not  that  we  really  are  so  busy  this  morning, 
I  should  have  been  tempted  to  make  an  exception  to  our  general 
rule  ;  one  more  exception,  for  your  early  visits  have  made  us  make 
too  many  already.  Perhaps,  however,  we  may  see  you  again  before 
you  go?" 

"  Certainly  I  shall  come,"  replied  he,  rising  to  take  his  leave, 
find  still  holding  the  demolished  roses  in  his  hand.  Then,  addressing 
himself  more  especially  to  Cynthia,  he  added,  "  My  stay  in  London 
will  not  exceed  a  fortnight  or  so — is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you 
— or  you  ?  "  turning  a  little  to  Molly. 

"  No,  thank  you  vciy  much,"  said  Cynthia,  very  sweetly,  and 
then  acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  she  leant  out  of  the  window,  and 
gathered  him  some  half-opened  roses.  "You  deserve  these;  do 
throw  that  poor  shabby  bunch  away." 

His  eyes  brightened,  his  cheeks  glowed.  He  took  the  offered 
buds,  but  did  not  throw  away  the  other  bunch. 

"  At  any  rate,  I  may  come  after  lunch  is  over,  and  the  afternoons 
and  evenings  will  be  the  most  delicious  time  of  day  a  month  hence." 
He  said  this  to  both  Molly  and  Cynthia,  but  in  his  heart  he  addressed 
it  to  the  latter. 

Mrs.  Gibson  affected  not  to  hear  what  he  was  saying,  but  held 
out  her  limp  hand  once  more  to  him. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  see  you  when  you  return ;  and  pray  tell  your 
brother  how  we  are  longing  to  have  a  visit  from  him  again." 

When  he  had  left  the  room,  Molly's  heart  was  quite  full.  She 
had  watched  his  face,  and  read  something  of  his  feelings  :  his  dis- 
appointment at  their  non- acquiescence  in  his  plan  of  a  day's  pleasure 
in  Hurstwood,  the  delayed  conviction  that  his  presence  was  n<)t 
welcome  to  the  wife  of  his  old  friend,  which  had  come  so  slowly  upon 
him — perhaps,  after  all,  these  things  touched  Molly  more  keenly  than 
they  did  him.  His  bright  look  when  C}-nthia  gave  him  the  rose-buds 
indicated  a  gush  of  sudden  delight  more  vivid  than  the  pain  he  had 
shown  by  his  previous  increase  of  gravity. 

*'  I  can't  think  why  he  will  come  at  such  untimely  hours,"  said 
Mrs.  Gibson,  as  soon  as  she  heard  him  fairly  out  of  the  house. 
"It's  different  from  Osborne;  we  are  so  much  more  intimate  with 
him :  he  came  and  made  friends  with  us  all  the  time  this  stupid 
brother  of  his  was  muddling  his  brains  with  mathematics  at  Cam- 
VoL.  I.  21 


822  WIVES  AXD   DAUGHTERS. 

bridge.  Fellow  of  Trinity,  indeed !  I  wisli  lie  would  learn  to  stay 
there,  and  not  come  intruding  here,  and  assuming  that  because  I 
asked  Osborne  to  join  in  a  pic-nic  it  was  all  the  same  to  me  which 
brother  came." 

"In  short,  mamma,  one  man  may  steal  a  horse,  but  another 
must  not  look  over  the  hedge,"  said  Cynthia,  pouting  a'little. 

"  And  the  two  brothers  have  always  been  treated  so  exactly  alike 
by  their  friends,  and  there  has  been  such  a  strong  friendship  between 
them,  that  it  is  no  wonder  Koger  thinks  he  may  be  welcome  where 
Osborne  is  allowed  to  come  at  all  hours,"  continued  Molly,  in  high 
dudgeon.     "  Roger's  '  muddled  brains,'  indeed  !    Roger,  '  stupid! '  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,  my  dears  !  When  I  was  young  it  wouldn't  have 
been  thought  becoming  for  girls  of  your  age  to  fly  out  because  a  little 
restraint  was  exercised  as  to  the  hours  at  which  they^ should  receive 
the  young  men's  calls.  And  they  would  have  supposed  that  there 
might  be  good  reasons  why  their  parents  disapproved  of  the  visits  of 
certain  gentlemen,  even  while  they  were  proud  and  pleased  to  see 
some  members  of  the  same  family." 

"But  that  was  what  I  said,  mamma,"  said  Cj-nthia,  looking  at 
her  mother  with  an  expression  of  innocent  bewilderment  on  her  face. 
"  One  man  may " 

"  Be  quiet,  child  !  All  proverbs  are  -snilgar,  and  I  do  believe  that 
is  the  vulgarest  of  all.  You  are  really  catching  Roger  Hamley's 
coarseness,  Cynthia !  " 

"  Mamma,"  said  Cynthia,  roused  to  auger,  "I  don't  mind  your 
abusing  me,  but  Mr.  Roger  Hamley  has  been  very  kind  to  me  while 
I've  not  been  well :  I  can't  bear  to  hear  him  disparaged.  If  he's 
coarse,  I've  no  objection  to  be  coarse  as  well,  for  it  seems  to  me  it 
must  mean  kindliness  and  pleasantness,  and  the  bringing  of  pretty 
flowers  and  presents." 

Molly's  tears  were  brimming  over  at  these  words ;  she  could  have 
kissed  Cynthia  for  her  warm  partisanship,  but,  afi'aid  of  betraying 
emotion,  and  "  making  a  scene,"  as  Mrs.  Gibson  called  any  signs  of 
■warm  feeling,  she  laid  dovrn  her  book  hastily,  and  ran  upstairs  to  her 
room,  and  locked  the  door  in  order  to  breathe  freely.  There  v»'ere 
traces  of  tears  upon  her  fixcc  when  she  returned  into  the  drawing- 
room  half-an-hour  afterwards,  walking  straight  and  demurely  up  to 
her  former  place,  where  Cynthia  still  sate  and  gazed  idly  out  of  the 
window,  pouting  and  displeased ;  Mrs.  Gibson,  meanwhile,  counting 
her  stitches  aloud  with  frreat  distinctness  and  vigour. 


(     323     ) 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

BUSH-FIGHTING. 

During  all  the  months  that  had  elapsed  since  Mrs.  Hamley's  death, 
Molly  had  wondered  many  a  time  about  the  secret  she  had  so  unwit- 
tingly become  possessed  of  that  last  day  in  the  Hall  library.     It 
seemed  so  utterly  strange  and  unheard-of  a  thing  to  her  inexperienced 
mind,  that  a  man  should  be  married,  and  yet  not  live  with  his  wife — 
that  a  son  should  have  entered  into  the  holy  state  of  matrimony 
without  his  father's  knowledge,  and  without  being  recognized  as  the 
husband  of  some  one  known  or  unkno^vn  by  all  those  with  whom  he 
came  in  daily  contact,  that  she  felt  occasionally  as  if  that  little  ten 
minutes  of  revelation  must  have  been  a  vision  in  a  dream.     Both 
Eoger  and  Osborne  had  kept  the  most  entire  silence  on  the  subject 
ever  since.    Not  even  a  look,  or  a  pause,  betrayed  any  allusion  to  it ; 
it  even  seemed  to  have  passed  out  of  their  thoughts.     There  had 
been  the  great  sad  event  of  their  mother's  death  to  fill  their  minds 
on  the  next  occasion  of  their  meeting  Molly ;  and  since  then  long 
pauses  of  intercourse  had  taken  place ;  so  that  she  sometimes  felt  as 
if  each  of  the  brothers  must  have  forgotten  how  she  had  come  to 
know  their  important  secret.     She  often  found  herself  entirely  for- 
getting it,  but  perhaps  the  consciousness  of  it  was  present  to  her 
unawares,  and  enabled  her  to  comprehend  the  real  nature  of  Osborne's 
feelings  towards  Cynthia.     At  any  rate,  she  never  for  a  moment  had 
supposed  that  his  gentle  kind  manner  towards  Cynthia  was  anything 
but  the  courtesy  of  a  friend.     Strauge  to  say,  in  these  latter  days 
Molly  had  looked  upon  Osborne's  relation  to  herself  as  pretty  much 
the  same  as  that  in  which  at  one  time  she  had  regarded  Roger's ; 
and  she  thought  of  the  former  as  of  some  one  as  nearly  a  brother 
both  to  Cynthia  and  herself,  as  any  young  man  could  well  be,  whom 
they  had  not  known  in  childhood,  and  who  was  in  nowise  related  to 

21—2 


324  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

them.  She  tliougbt  that  lie  was  very  much  improved  in  manner, 
and  probably  in  character,  by  his  mother's  death.  He  was  no  longer 
sarcastic,  or  fastidious,  or  vain,  or  solf- confident.  She  did  not  know 
how  often  all  these  styles  of  talk  or  of  behaviour  were  put  on  to 
conceal  shyness  or  consciousness,  and  to  veil  the  real  self  from 
strangers, 

Osborne's  conversation  and  ways  might  very  possibly  have  been 
just  the  same  as  before,  had  he  been  thrown  amongst  new  people  ; 
but  Molly  only  saw  him  in  their  ovm  circle  in  which  he  was  on  tenns 
of  decided  intimacy.  Still  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  was  really 
improved,  though  perhaps  not  to  the  extent  for  which  Molly  gave  him 
credit ;  and  this  exaggeration  on  her  part  arose  veiy  naturally  from 
the  fact,  that  he,  perceiving  Roger's  warm  admiration  for  Cynthia, 
withdrew  a  little  out  of  his  brother's  way  ;  and  used  to  go  and  talk 
to  Molly  in  order  not  to  intrude  himself  between  Roger  and  Cynthia. 
Of  the  two,  perhaps,  Osborne  preferred  Molly ;  to  her  he  needed  not 
to  talk  if  the  mood  was  not  on  him— they  were  on  those  happy  terms 
where  silence  is  permissible,  and  where  eflbrts  to  act  against  the 
prevailing  mood  of  the  mind  are  not  required.     Sometimes,  indeed, 

when  Osborne  was  in  the  humour  to  be  critical  and  fastidious  as  of 

« 

yore,  he  used  to  vex  Roger  by  insisting  upon  it  that  Molly  was  prettier 
than  Cynthia. 

"  You  mark  my  words,  Roger.  Five  years  hence  the  beautiful 
Cynthia's  red  and  white  will  have  become  just  a  little  coarse,  and 
her  figure  will  have  thickened,  while  Molly's  will  only  have  developed 
into  more  perfect  grace.  I  don't  believe  the  girl  has  done  growing 
yet ;  I'm  sure  she's  taller  than  when  I  first  saw  her  last  summer." 

*'  Miss  Kirkpatrick's  eyes  must  always  be  perfection.  I  cannot 
fancy  any  could  come  up  to  them  :  soft,  grave,  appealing,  tender  ; 
and  such  a  heavenly  colour — I  often  try  to  find  something  in  nature 
to  compare  them  to  ;  they  are  not  like  violets — that  blue  in  the 
eyes  is  too  like  physical  weakness  of  sight ;  they  are  not  like  the  sky 
— that  colour  has  something  of  cruelty  in  it." 

"  Come  don't  go  on  trying  to  match  her  eyes  as  if  you  were  a 
draper,  and  they  a  bit  of  ribbon  ;  say  at  once  *  her  eyes  are  load- 
stars,' and  have  done  with  it !  I  set  up  Molly's  grey  eyes  and  curling 
black  lashes,  long  odds  above  the  other  young  woman's  ;  but,  of 
course,  it's  all  a  matter  of  taste." 

And  now  both  Osborne  and  Roger  had  left  the  neighbourhood. 
In  spite  of  all  that  Mrs.  Gibson  had  said  about  Roger's  visits  being 


BUSH-FIGHTING.  325 

ill-timed  and  intrusive,  she  began  to  feel  as  if  tliey  had  been  a  vciy 
pleasant  variety,  now  that  they  had  ceased  altogether.  He  brought 
in  a  whiff  of  a  new  atmosphere  from  that  of  HoUiugford.  He  and 
his  brother  had  been  always  ready  to  do  numberless  little  things 
which  only  a  man  can  do  for  woman  ;  small  services  which  Mr.  Gibson 
was  always  too  busy  to  render.  For  the  good  doctor's  business  grew 
upon  him.  He  thought  that  this  increase  was  owing  to  his  greater 
skill  and  experience,  and  he  would  probably  have  been  mortified  if  he 
could  have  known  how  many  of  his  patients  were  solely  biassed  in 
sending  for  him,  by  the  fact  that  he  was  employed  at  the  Towers. 
Something  of  this  sort  must  have  been  contemplated  in  the  low  scale 
of  payment  adopted  long  ago  by  the  Cumnor  family.  Of  itself  the 
money  he  received  for  going  to  the  Towers  would  hardly  have  paid 
him  for  horse-flesh,  but  then,  as  Lady  Cumnor  in  her  younger  days 
worded  it, — 

"It  is  such  a  thing  for  a  man  just  setting  up  in  practice  for 
himself  to  be  able  to  say  he  attends  at  this  house  !  " 

So  the  prestige  was  tacitly  sold  and  paid  for ;  but  neither  buyer 
nor  seller  defined  the  nature  of  the  bargain. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  as  w^ell  that  Mr.  Gibson  spent  so  much  of 
his  time  from  home.  He  sometimes  thought  so  himself  when  he 
heard  his  wife's  plaintive  fret  or  pretty  babble  over  totally  indiS'erent 
things,  and  perceived  of  how  flimsy  a  nature  were  all  her  fine  senti- 
ments. Still,  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  repine  over  the  step  he 
had  taken  ;  he  wilfully  shut  his  eyes  and  waxed  up  his  ears  to  many 
small  things  that  he  knew  would  have  irritated  him  if  he  had 
attended  to  them  ;  and,  in  his  solitary  rides,  he  forced  himself  to 
dwell  on  the  positive  advantages  that  had  accrued  to  him  and  his 
through  his  marriage.  He  had  obtained  an  unexceptionable  chape- 
rone,  if  not  a  tender  mother,  for  his  little  girl ;  a  skilful  managk* 
of  his  formerly  disorderly  household  ;  a  woman  who  was  graceful  and 
pleasant  to  look  at  for  the  head  of  his  table.  IMoreover,  Cynthia 
reckoned  for  something  on  the  favourable  side  of  the  balance.  She 
was  a  capital  companion  for  Molly  ;  and  the  two  were  evidently  very 
fond  of  each  other.  The  feminine  companionship  of  the  mother  and 
daughter  was  agreeable  to  him  as  well  as  to  his  child,  —  when 
Mrs.  Gibson  was  moderately  sensible  and  not  over-sentimental,  he 
mentally  added ;  and  then  he  checked  himself,  for  he  would  not 
allow  himself  to  become  more  aware  of  her  faults  and  foibles  by 
defining  them.     At  any  rate,  she  was  harmless,  and  wonderfully  just 


826  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

to  Molly  for  a  stepmother.  She  piqued  herself  upon  this  indeed, 
and  would  often  call  attention  to  the  fact  of  her  being  unHke  other 
•women  in  this  respect.  Just  then  sudden  tears  came  into  Mr. 
Gibson's  eyes,  as  he  remembered  how  quiet  and  undemonsti-ative 
his  little  Molly  had  become  in  her  general  behaviour  to  him  ;  but  how 
once  or  twice,  when  they  had  met  upon  the  stairs,  or  were  otherwise 
unwitnessed,  she  had  caught  him  and  kissed  him — ^hand  or  cheek — 
in  a  sad  passionateness  of  affection.  But  in  a  moment  he  began  to 
whistle  an  old  Scotch  air  he  had  heard  in  his  childhood,  and  which 
had  never  recun-ed  to  his  memory  since  ;  and  five  minutes  afterwards 
he  was  too  busily  ti*eating  a  case  of  white  swelling  in  the  knee  of  a 
little  boy,  and  thinking  how  to  relieve  the  poor  mother,  who  went  out 
chairing  all  day,  and  had  to  listen  to  the  moans  of  her  child  all 
night,  to  have  any  thought  for  his  own  cares,  which,  if  they  really 
existed,  were  of  so  tritliug  a  nature  compared  to  the  hard  reality  of 
this  hopeless  woe. 

Osborne  came  home  first.  He  returned,  in  fact,  not  long  after 
Eoger  had  gone  away  ;  but  he  was  languid  and  unwell,  and,  though 
he  did  not  complain,  he  felt  unequal  to  any  exertion.  Thus  a  week 
or  more  elapsed  before  any  of  the  Gibsons  knew  that  he  was  at  the 
Hall ;  and  then  it  was  only  by  chance  that  they  became  aware  of  it. 
Mr.  Gibson  met  him  in  one  of  the  lanes  near  Hamley ;  the  acute 
surgeon  noticed  the  gait  of  the  man  as  he  came  near,  before  he 
recognized  who  it  was.     When  he  overtook  him  he  said, — 

"  Why,  Osborne,  is  it  you  ?  I  thought  it  was  an  old  man  of 
fifty  loitering  before  me  !     I  didn't  know  you  had  come  back." 

"  Yes,"  said  Osborne,  "  I've  been  at  home  nearly  ten  days.  I 
daresay  I  ought  to  have  called  on  your  people,  for  I  made  a  half 
promise  to  Mrs.  Gibson  to  let  her  know  as  soon  as  I  returned ;  but 
the  fact  is,  I'm  feeling  very  good-for-nothing, — this  air  oppresses 
me  ;  I  could  hardly  breathe  in  the  house,  and  yet  I'm  already  tired 
with  this  short  walk." 

**  You'd  better  get  home  at  once;  and  I'll  call  and  see  you  as  I 
come  back  from  Howe's." 

"No,  you  mustn't  on  any  account!"  said  Osborne,  hastily; 
"  my  father  is  annoyed  enough  about  my  going  from  home,  so  often, 
he  says,  though  I  hadn't  been  from  it  for  six  weeks.  He  puts  down 
all  my  languor  to  my  having  been  away, — he  keeps  the  purse-strings, 
you  know,"  he  added,  with  a  fiiint  smile,  "  and  I'm  in  the  unlucky 
position  of  a  penniless  heir,  and  I've  been  brought  up  so — In  fact,  I 


BUSII-FIGHTIXG.  S27 

must  leave  home  from  time  to  time,  and,  if  my  father  gets  confirmed 
in  this  notion  of  his  that  my  health  is  worse  for  my  absence,  he  will 
stop  the  supplies  altogether." 

*'  May  I  ask  where  you  do  spend  your  time  when  you  are  not  at 
Hamley  Hall  ? "  asked  Mr.  Gibson,  with  some  hesitation  in  his 
manner. 

"  No  !"  replied  Osborne,  reluctantly.  *'  I  will  tell  you  this  : — I 
stay  with  friends  in  the  country.  I  lead  a  life  which  ought  to  be 
conducive  to  health,  because  it  is  thoroughly  simple,  rational,  and 
happy.  And  now  I've  told  you  more  about  it  than  my  father  himself 
knows.  He  never  asks  me  where  I  have  been  ;  and  I  shouldn't  tell 
him  if  he  did — at  least,  I  think  not." 

Mr.  Gibson  rode  on  by  Osborne's  side,  not  speaking  for  a  moment 
or  two. 

"  Osborne,  whatever  scrapes  you  may  have  got  into,  I  should 
advise  your  telling  your  father  boldly  out.  I  know  him ;  and  I  know 
he'll  be  angi-y  enough  at  first,  but  he'll  come  round,  take  my  word 
for  it ;  and,  somehow  or  another,  he'll  find  money  to  pay  your  debts 
and  set  you  fi'ee,  if  it's  that  kind  of  difficulty  ;  and  if  it's  any  other 
kind  of  entanglement,  why  still  he's  your  best  friend.  It's  this 
estrangement  from  your  father  that's  telling  on  your  health,  I'll  be 
bound." 

"  No,"  said  Osborne,  "  I  beg  your  pardon ;  but  it's  not  that ;  I 
am  really  out  of  order.  I  daresay  my  unwillingness  to  encounter 
any  displeasure  from  my  father  is  the  consequence  of  my  indispo- 
sition ;  but  I'll  answer  for  it,  it  is  not  the  cause  of  it.  My  instinct 
tells  me  there  is  something  really  the  matter  with  me." 

"  Come,  don't  be  setting  up  your  instinct  against  the  profession," 
said  Mr.  Gibson,  cheerily. 

He  dismounted,  and  throwing  the  reins  of  his  horse  round  his 
arm,  he  looked  at  Osborne's  tongue  and  felt  his  pulse,  asking  him 
various  questions,  at  the  end  he  said, — 

"  We'll  soon  bring  you  about,  though  I  should  like  a  little  more 
quiet  talk  with  you,  v.ithout  this  tugging  brute  for  a  third.  If  you'll 
manage  to  ride  over  and  lunch  with  us  to-morrow,  Dr.  Nicholls  wiU 
be  with  us ;  he's  coming  over  to  see  old  Rowe;  and  you  shall  have 
the  benefit  of  the  advice  of  two  doctors  instead  of  one.  Go  home 
now,  you've  had  enough  exercise  for  the  middle  of  a  day  as  hot  as 
this  is.  And  don't  mope  in  the  house,  listening  to  the  maunderings 
of  your  stupid  instinct." 


828  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"What  else  have  I  to  do  ?"  said  Osborne.  "  My  father  and  I 
are  not  companions ;  one  can't  read  and  write  for  ever,  especially 
when  there's  no  end  to  be  gained  by  it.  I  don't  mind  telling  you — 
but  in  confidence,  recollect — that  I've  been  trying  to  get  some  of  my 
poems  published  ;  but  there's  no  one  like  a  publisher  for  taking  the 
conceit  out  of  one.  Not  a  man  among  them  would  have  them  as  a 
gift." 

"  Oho  !  so  that's  it,  is  it,  Master  Osborne.  I  thought  there  was 
some  mental  cause  for  this  depression  of  health.  I  wouldn't  trouble 
my  head  about  it,  if  I  were  you,  though  that's  always  very  easily 
said,  I  know.  Try  your  hand  at  prose,  if  you  can't  manage  to 
please  the  publishers  with  poetry  ;  but,  at  any  rate,  don't  go  on 
fretting  over  spilt  milk.  But  I  mustn't  lose  my  time  here.  Come 
over  to  us  to-morrow,  as  I  said ;  and  what  with  the  wisdom  of  two 
doctors,  and  the  wit  and  folly  of  three  women,  I  think  we  shall  cheer 
you  up  a  bit." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Gibson  remounted,  and  rode  away  at  the  long, 
sling  trot  so  well  known  to  the  country  people  as  the  doctor's  pace. 

"  I  don't  like  his  looks,"  thought  Mr.  Gibson  to  himself  at 
night,  as  over  his  daybooks  he  reviewed  the  events  of  the  day. 
"And  then  his  pulse.  But  how  often  we're  all  mistaken;  and,  ten 
to  one,  my  own  hidden  enemy  lies  closer  to  me  than  his  does  to  him 
— even  taking  the  worse  view  of  the  case." 

Osborne  made  his  appearance  a  considerable  time  before  luncheon 
the  next  morning ;  and  no  one  objected  to  the  earliuess  of  his  call. 
Ho  was  feeling  better.  There  were  few  signs  of  the  invalid  about 
him ;  and  what  few  there  were  disappeared  under  the  bright  pleasant 
influence  of  such  a  welcome  as  he  received  from  all.  Molly  and 
Cynthia  had  much  to  tell  him  cf  the  small  proceedings  since  he  went 
away,  or  to  relate  the  conclusions  of  half-accomplished  projects. 
C}Tithia  was  often  on  the  poiut  of  some  gay,  careless  inquiry  as  to 
where  he  had  been,  and  what  he  had  been  doing ;  but  Molly,  who 
conjectured  the  truth,  as  often  interfered  to  spare  him  the  pain  of 
equivocation — a  pain  that  her  tender  conscience  would  have  felt  for 
him,  much  more  than  he  would  have  felt  it  for  himself. 

Mrs.  Gibson's  talk  was  desultory,  complimentary,  and  senti- 
mental, after  her  usual  fashion ;  but  still,  on  the  whole,  though 
Osborne  smiled  to  himself  at  much  that  she  said,  it  was  soothing 
and  agreeable.  Presently,  Dr.  Nicholls  and  Mr.  Gibson  came  in; 
the  former  had  had  some  conference  with  the  latter  on  the  subject 


BUSH-FIGHTING.  329 

of  Osborne's  health ;  auci,  from  time  to  time,  the  skilful  old  phy- 
sician's sharp  and  observant  eyes  gave  a  comprehensive  look  at 
Osborne. 

Then  there  was  lunch,  when  eveiy  one  was  meiTy  and  hungry, 
excepting  the  hostess,  who  was  trying  to  train  her  midday  appetite 
into  the  genteelest  of  all  ways,  and  thought  (falsely  enough)  that 
Dr.  NichoUs  was  a  good  person  to  practise  the  semblance  of  ill- 
health  upon,  and  that  he  would  give  her  the  proper  civil  amount  of 
commiseration  for  her  ailments,  which  every  guest  ought  to  bestow 
upon  a  hostess  who  complains  of  her  delicacy  of  health.  The  old 
doctor  was  too  cunning  a  man  to  fall  into  this  trap.  He  would  keep 
recommending  her  to  try  the  coarsest  viands  on  the  table ;  and,  at 
last,  he  told  her  if  she  could  not  fancy  the  cold  beef  to  try  a  little 
with  pickled  onions.  There  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  said  this, 
that  would  have  betrayed  his  humour  to  any  observer;  but  Mr. 
Gibson,  Cynthia,  and  Molly  were  all  attacking  Osborne  on  the 
subject  of  some  literary  preference  he  had  expressed,  and  Dr. 
Nicholls  had  Mrs.  Gibson  quite  at  his  mercy.  She  was  not 
sorry  when  luncheon  was  over  to  leave  the  room  to  the  three 
gentlemen ;  and  ever  afterwards  she  spoke  of  Dr.  KichoUs  as  "  that 
bear." 

Presently,  Osborne  came  upstairs,  and,  after  his  old  fashion, 
began  to  take  up  new  books,  and  to  question  the  girls  as  to  their 
music.  Mr.  Gibson  had  to  go  out  and  pay  some  calls,  so  he  left  the 
three  together ;  and  after  a  while  they  adjourned  into  the  garden, 
Osborne  lounging  on  a  chair,  while  Molly  employed  herself  busily  in 
tying  up  carnations,  and  Cynthia  gathered  flowers  in  her  careless, 
graceful  way. 

"  I  hope  you  notice  the  difference  in  our  occupations,  Mr.  Ham- 
ley.  Molly,  you  see,  devotes  herself  to  the  useful,  and  I  to  the 
ornamental.  Please,  under  what  head  do  you  class  what  you  are 
doing  ?  I  think  you  might  help  one  of  us,  instead  of  looking  on  like 
the  Grand  Seigneur." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do,"  said  he,  rather  plaintively.  "  I 
should  like  to  be  useful,  but  I  don't  know  how ;  and  my  day  is  past 
for  purely  ornamental  work.  You  must  let  me  be,  I'm  afraid.  Be- 
sides, I'm  really  rather  exhausted  by  being  questioned  and  pulled 
about  by  those  good  doctors." 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  they  have  been  attacking  you 
since  lunch ! "  exclaimed  Molly. 


830  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

"  Yes ;  indeed,  they  have  ;  and  they  might  have  gone  on  till  now 
if  Mrs.  Gihson  had  not  come  in  opportunely." 

"  I  thought  mamma  had  gone  out  some  time  ago  !  "  said  Cynthia, 
catching  wafts  of  the  conversation  as  she  flitted  hither  and  thither 
among  the  flowers. 

"  She  came  into  the  dining-room  not  five  minutes  ago.  Do  you 
want  her,  for  I  see  her  crossing  the  hall  at  this  very  moment  ?"  and 
Osborne  half  rose. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all!"  said  Cynthia.  "Only  she  seemed  to  be  in 
such  a  hurry  to  go  out,  I  fancied  she  had  set  oft'  long  ago.  She  had 
some  errand  to  do  for  Lady  Cumnor,  and  she  thought  she  could 
manage  to  catch  the  housekeeper,  who  is  always  in  the  town  on 
Thursday." 

"  Are  the  family  coming  to  the  Towers  this  autumn  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so.  But  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  much  care.  They 
don't  take  kindly  to  me,"  continued  Cynthia,  "  and  so  I  suppose  I'm 
not  generous  enough  to  take  kindly  to  them." 

"I  should  have  thought  that  such  a  very  unusual  blot  in  their 
discrimination  would  have  interested  you  in  them  as  extraordinary 
people,"  said  Osborne,  with  a  little  air  of  conscious  gallantry. 

"  Isn't  that  a  compliment  ?  "  said  CjTithia,  after  a  pause  of  mock 
meditation.  "If  any  one  pays  me  a  compliment,  please  let  it  be 
short  and  clear.     I'm  very  stupid  at  finding  out  hidden  meanings." 

"  Then  such  speeches  as  '  you  are  very  pretty,'  or  *  you  have 
charming  manners,'  are  what  you  prefer.  Now,  I  pique  myself  on 
wrapping  up  my  sugar-plums  delicately." 

"  Then  would  you  please  to  write  them  down,  and  at  my  leisui-e 
I'll  parse  them." 

"  No  !  It  would  be  too  much  trouble.  I'll  meet  you  haK-way, 
and  study  clearness  next  time.'' 

"  What  are  you  two  talking  about  ?  "  said  Molly,  resting  on  her 
light  spade. 

"  It's  only  a  discussion  on  the  best  way  of  administering  compli- 
ments," said  Cynthia,  taking  up  her  flower-basket  again,  but  not 
going  out  of  the  reach  of  the  conversation. 

"I  don't  like  them  at  all  in  any  way,"  said  Molly.  "But, 
perhaps,  it's  rather  sour  grapes  with  me,"  she  added. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Osborne.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  heard  of 
you  at  the  ball?  " 

"  Or  shall  I  provoke  Mr.  Preston,"  said  Cynthia,  "  to  begin  upon 


BUSH-FIQHTING.  331 

you  ?  It's  like  turning  a  tap,  such  a  stream  of  pretty  speeches  flows 
out  at  the  moment."     Her  lip  curled  •with  scom. 

"  For  you,  perhaps,"  said  Molly ;  "  but  not  for  me." 

"  For  any  woman.  It  is  his  notion  of  making  himself  agi'eeable. 
If  you  dare  me,  Molly,  I'will  try  the  experiment,  and  you'U  see  with 
what  success." 

"No,  don't,  pray!"  said  Molly,  in  a  huny.  "I  do  so  dislike 
him!  " 

"  "Why?  "  said  Osborne,  roused  to  a  little  curiosity  by  her  vehe- 
mence. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know.  He  never  seems  to  know  what  one  is 
feeling." 

"He  wouldn't  care  if  he  did  know,"  said  Cynthia.  "And  he 
might  know  he  is  not  wanted." 

"  If  he  chooses  to  stay,  he  cares  little  whether  he  is  wanted  or  not." 

"  Come,  this  is  verj'  interesting,"  said  Osborne.  "  It  is  like  the 
strophe  and  anti-strophe  in  a  Greek  chorus.     Pray,  go  on." 

"  Don't  you  know  him  ?  "  asked  Molly. 

"  Yes,  by  sight,  and  I  tliink  we  were  once  introduced.  But,  you 
know,  we  are  much  farther  fi'om  Ashcombe,  at  Hamley,  than  you  are 
here,  at  Hollingford." 

"  Oh  !  but  he's  coming  to  take  Mr.  Sheepshanks'  place,  and  then 
he  will  live  here  altogether,"  said  Molly. 

"  Molly!  who  told  you  that?"  said  Cynthia,  in  quite  a  different 
tone  of  voice  to  that  in  which  she  had  been  speaking  hitherto. 

"  Papa, — didn't  you  hear  him  ?  Oh,  no  !  it  was  before  you  were 
down  this  morning.  Papa  met  Mr.  Sheepshanks  yesterday,  and  he 
told  him  it  was  all  settled  :  you  know  we  heard  a  rumour  about  it  in 


% 


the  spring !  " 

Cynthia  was  verj-  silent  after  this.  Presently,  she  said  that  she 
had  gathered  all  the  flowers  she  wanted,  and  that  the  heat  was  so 
great  she  would  go  indoors.  And  then  Osborne  went  away.  But 
Molly  had  set  herself  a  task  to  dig  up  such  roots  as  had  already 
flowered,  and  to  put  down  some  bedding-out  plants  in  their  stead. 
Tired  and  heated  as  she  was  she  finished  it,  and  then  went  upstairs 
to  rest,  and  change  her  dress.  According  to  her  Avont,  she  sought 
for  Cynthia ;  there  was  no  reply  to  her  soft  knock  at  the  bedi'oom- 
door  opposite  to  her  own,  and,  thinking  that  Cynthia  might  have 
fallen  asleep,  and  be  lying  uncovered  in  the  draught  of  the  open 
■window,  she  went  in  softly.     Cynthia  was  lying  upon  the  bed  as  if 


382  WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

she  had  thrown  herself  down  on  it  without  caring  for  the  ease  or 
comfort  of  her  position.  She  was  very  still ;  and  Molly  took  a  shawl, 
and  was  going  to  place  it  over  her,  when  she  opened  her  eyes,  and 
spoke, — 

"Is  that  you,  dear?  Don't  go.  I  like  to  know  that  you  are 
there." 

She  shut  her  eyes  again,  and  remained  quite  quiet  for  a  few 
minutes  longer.  Then  she  started  up  into  a  sitting  posture,  pushed 
her  hair  away  from  her  forehead  and  burning  eyes,  and  gazed  intently 
at  Molly. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I've  been  thinking,  dear  ?  "  said  she.  "  I 
think  I've  been  loug  enough  here,  and  that  I  had  better  go  out  as  a 
governess." 

"  Cynthia  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Molly,  aghast.  "You've 
been  asleep — you've  been  dreaming.  You're  over-tired,"  continued 
she,  sitting  down  on  the  bed,  and  taking  Cynthia's  passive  hand,  and 
stroking  it  softly — a  mode  of  caressing  that  had  come  down  to  her 
from  her  mother — whether  as  an  hereditary  instinct,  or  as  a  lingering 
remembrance  of  the  tender  ways  of  the  dead  woman,  Mr.  Gibson 
often  wondered  within  himself  when  he  observed  it. 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  arc,  Molly  !  I  wonder,  if  I  had  been  brought 
up  like  j^ou,  whether  I  should  have  been  as  good.  But  I've  been 
tossed  about  so." 

"  Then,  don't  go  and  be  tossed  about  any  more,"  said  Molly,  softly. 

"  Oh,  dear !  I  had  better  go.  But,  you  see,  no  one  ever  loved 
me  like  you,  and,  I  think,  your  father — doesn't  he,  Molly  ?  And  it's 
hard  to  be  driven  out." 

"  Cynthia,  I  am  sure  you're  not  well,  or  else  you're  not  half 
awake." 

Cynthia  sate  with  her  arms  encircling  her  knees,  and  looking  at 
vacancy. 

"Well!"  said  she,  at  last,  heaving  a  great  sigh;  but,  then, 
smiling  as  she  caught  Molly's  anxious  face,  "I  suppose  there's  no 
escaping  one's  doom ;  and  anywhere  else  I  should  be  much  more 
forlorn  and  unprotected." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  your  doom  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that's  telling,  little  one,"  said  Cynthia,  who  seemed  now  to 
have  recovered  her  usual  manner.  "I  don't  mean  to  have  one, 
though.  I  think  that,  though  I  am  an  arrant  coward  at  heart,  I  can 
show  fight." 


BUSH-FIGHTING.  833 

**  With  whom  ?  "  asked  Molly,  really  anxious  to  probe  the  mystery 
— if,  indeed,  there  was  one — to  the  bottom,  in  the  hope  of  some 
remedy  being  found  for  the  distress  C3Tithia  was  in  when  first  Molly 
entered. 

Again  Cynthia  was  lost  in  thought ;  then,  catching  the  echo  of 
Molly's  last  words  in  her  mind,  she  said, — 

"  *  With  whom  ?  ' — oh  !  show  fight  with  whom  ? — why,  my  doom, 
to  be  sure.  Am  not  I  a  grand  young  lady  to  have  a  doom  ?  Why, 
Molly,  child,  how  pale  and  grave  you  look !  "  said  she,  kissing  her 
all  of  a  sudden.  "  You  ought  not  to  care  so  much  for  me ;  I'm  not 
good  enough  for  you  to  worry  yourself  about  me.  I've  given  myself 
up  a  long  time  ago  as  a  heartless  baggage  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !     I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  so,  Cynthia  !  " 

"  And  I  wish  you  wouldn't  always  take  me  '  at  the  foot  of  the  letter,' 
as  an  English  girl  at  school  used  to  translate  it.  Oh,  how  hot  it  is  !  Is 
it  never  going  to  get  cool  again  ?  My  child  !  what  dirty  hands  you've 
got,  and  face  too ;  and  I've  been  kissing  you — I  daresay  I'm  dirty 
with  it,  too.  Now,  isn't  that  like  one  of  mamma's  speeches?  But, 
for  all  that,  you  look  more  like  a  delving  Adam  than  a  spinning  Eve." 
This  had  the  efiect  that  Cynthia  intended ;  the  daintily  clean  Molly 
became  conscious  of  her  soiled  condition,  which  she  had  forgotten 
while  she  had  been  attending  to  Cynthia,  and  she  hastily  withdrew  to 
her  own  room.  When  she  had  gone,  Cynthia  noiselessly  locked  the 
door ;  and,  taking  her  purse  out  of  her  desk,  she  began  to  count  over 
her  money.  She  counted  it  once — she  counted  it  twice,  as  if  desi- 
rous of  finding  out  some  mistake  which  should  prove  it  to  be  more 
than  it  was  ;  but  the  end  of  it  all  was  a  sigh. 

"  What  a  fool ! — what  a  fool  I  was  !  "  said  she,  at  length.  "  But 
even  if  I  don't  go  out  as  a  governess,  I  shall  make  it  up  in  time." 

Some  weeks  after  the  time  he  had  anticipated  when  he  spoke  of 
his  departure  to  the  Gibsons,  Roger  returned  back  to  the  Hall.  One 
morning  when  he  called,  Osborne  told  them  that  his  brother  had  been 
at  home  for  two  or  three  days. 

"And  why  has  he  not  come  here,  then?"  said  Mrs.  Gibson. 
"It  is  not  kind  of  him  not  to  come  and  see  us  as  soon  as  he  can. 
Tell  him  I  say  so — pray  do," 

Osborne  had  gained  one  or  two  ideas  as  to  her  treatment  of  Roger 
the  last  time  he  had  called.  Roger  had  not  complained  of  it,  or  even 
mentioned  it,  till  that  very  morning ;  when  Osborne  was  on  the  point 
of  starting,  and  had  urged  Roger  to  accompany  him,  the  latter  had 


834  "WIVES  AND   DAUGHTERS. 

told  him  something  of  what  Mrs.  Gibson  had  said.  He  spoke  rather 
as  if  he  was  more  amused  than  annoyed ;  but  Osborne  could  read  that 
he  was  chagrined  at  those  restrictions  placed  upon  calls  which  were  the 
greatest  pleasure  of  his  life.  Neither  of  them  let  out  the  suspicion 
which  had  entered  both  their  minds — the  well-grounded  suspicion 
arising  from  the  fact  that  Osborne's  visits,  be  they  paid  early  or  late, 
had  never  yet  been  met  with  a  repulse. 

Osborne  now  reproached  himself  with  having  done  ]\Irs.  Gibson 
injustice.  She  was  evidently  a  weak,  but  probably  a  disinterested, 
woman ;  and  it  was  only  a  little  bit  of  ill-temper  on  her  part  which 
had  caused  her  to  speak  to  Roger  as  she  had  done. 

"I  daresay  it  was  rather  impertinent  of  me  to  call  at  such  an 
untimely  hour,"  said  Roger. 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  call  at  all  hours,  and  nothing  is  ever  said  about  it. 
It  was  just  because  she  was  put  out  that  morning.  I'll  answer  for  it 
she's  sorij  now,  and  I'm  sure  you  may  go  there  at  any  time  you  like 
in  future." 

Still,  Roger  did  not  choose  to  go  again  for  two  or  three  weeks, 
and  the  consequence  was  that  the  next  time  he  called  the  ladies  were 
out.  Once  again  he  had  the  same  ill-luck,  and  then  he  received  a 
little  pretty  three-cornered  note  from  Mrs.  Gibson  : — 

"  My  dear  Sir, 

"  How  is  it  that  you  are  become  so  formal  all  on  a  sudden,  leaving 
cards,  instead  of  awaiting  our  return  ?  Fie  for  shame  !  If  you  had 
seen  the  faces  of  disappointment  that  I  did  when  the  horrid  little  bits 
of  pasteboard  were  displayed  to  our  view,  j'ou  would  not  have  borne 
malice  against  me  so  long ;  for  it  is  really  punishing  others  as  well  as 
my  naughty  self.  If  you  will  come  to-morrow — as  early  as  you  like 
— and  lunch  with  us,  I'll  own  I  was  cross,  and  acknowledge  myself  a 
penitent. — Yours  ever, 

"  Haycinth  C.  F.  Gibson." 

There  was  no  resisting  this,  even  if  there  had  not  been  strong 
inclination  to  back  up  the  pretty  words.  Roger  went,  and  Mrs. 
Gibson  caressed  and  petted  him  in  her  sweetest,  silkiest  manner. 
Cynthia  looked  lovelier  than  ever  to  him  for  the  slight  restriction 
that  had  been  laid  for  a  time  on  their  intercourse.  She  might  be 
gay  and  sparkling  with  Osborne  ;  with  Roger  she  was  soft  and 
grave.  Instinctively  she  knew  her  men.  She  saw  that  Osborne 
was  only  interested  in  her  because  of  her  position  in  a  family  with 


BUSH-FIGHTING.  335 

wliom  lie  was  intimato ;  that  his  friendship  was  without  the  least 
touch  of  sentiment;  and  that  his  admiration  was  only  the  warm 
criticism  of  au  artist  for  unusual  beauty.  Bat  she  felt  how 
diflferent  Roger's  relation  to  her  was.  To  him  she  was  the  one, 
alone,  peerless.  If  his  love  was  prohibited,  it  would  be  long  years 
before  he  could  sink  down  into  tepid  fi'iendship  ;  and  to  him  her 
personal  loveliness  was  only  one  of  the  many  charms  that  made 
him  tremble  into  passion.  Cynthia  was  not  capable  of  returning 
such  feelings  ;  she  had  had  too  little  true  love  in  her  life,  and 
perhaps  too  much  admiration  to  do  so  ;  but  she  appreciated  this 
honest  ardour,  this  loyal  worship  that  was  new  to  her  experience. 
Such  appreciation,  and  such  respect  for  his  true  and  affectionate 
nature,  gave  a  serious  tenderness  to  her  manner  to  Roger,  which 
allured  him  with  a  fresh  and  separate  grace.  Molly  sate  by,  and 
wondered  how  it  would  all  end,  or,  rather,  how  soon  it  would  all 
end,  for  she  thought  that  no  girl  could  resist  such  reverent  passion  ; 
and  on  Roger's  side  there  could  be  no  doubt — alas  !  there  could  be 
no  doubt.  Au  older  spectator  might  have  looked  far  ahead,  and 
thought  of  the  question  of  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  Where  was 
the  necessary  income  for  a  marriage  to  come  from  ?  Roger  had  his 
fellowship  now,  it  is  true ;  but  the  income  of  that  would  be  lost  if 
he  married  ;  he  had  no  profession,  a  life  interest  in  the  two  or  three 
thousand  pounds  that  he  inherited  from  his  mother,  belonging  to 
his  father.  This  older  spectator  might  have  been  a  little  surprised 
at  the  enipresscment  of  Mrs.  Gibson's  manner  to  a  younger  son, 
always  supposing  this  said  spectator  to  have  read  to  the  depths  of 
her  worldly  heart.  Never  had  she  tried  to  be  more  agreeable  to 
Osborne ;  and  though  her  attempt  was  a  great  failure  when  practised 
■upon  Roger,  and  he  did  not  know  what  to  say  in  reply  to  the  delicate 
flatteries  which  he  felt  to  be  insincere,  he  saw  that  she  intended  fiim 
to  consider  himself  henceforward  free  of  the  house  ;  and  he  was  too 
glad  to  avail  himself  of  this  privilege  to  examine  over- closely  into 
what  might  be  her  motives  for  her  change  of  manner.  He  shut  his 
eyes,  and  chose  to  believe  that  she  was  now  desirous  of  making  up 
for  her  little  burst  of  temper  on  his  previous  visit. 

The  result  of  Osborne's  conference  with  the  two  doctors  had 
been  certain  prescriptions  which  appeared  to  have  done  him  much 
good,  and  which  would  in  all  probability  have  done  him  yet  more, 
could  he  have  been  free  from  the  recollection  of  the  little  patient 
wife  in  her  solitude  near  Winchester.     He  went  to  her  whenever 


33G  WIVES  AND  DAUGHTERS. 

be  could ;  and,  thanks  to  Eoger,  money  was  far  more  plentiful  with 
him  now  than  it  had  been.  But  be  still  shrank,  and  perhaps  even 
more  and  more,  from  telling  his  father  of  his  marriage.  Some 
bodily  instinct  made  him  dread  all  agitation  inexpressibly.  If  he 
had  not  had  this  money  from  Roger,  he  ipiight  have  been  compelled 
to  tell  bis  father  all,  and  to  ask  for  the  necessary  funds  to  provide 
for  the  wife  and  the  coming  child.  But  with  enough  in  hand,  and  a 
secret,  though  remorseful,  conviction  that  as  long  as  Roger  had  a 
peunji  his  brother  was  sure  to  have  half  of  it,  made  liim  more  re- 
luctant than  ever  to  irritate  his  father  by  a  revelation  of  his  secret. 
•'  Not  just  yet,  not  just  at  present,"  he  kept  saying  both  to  Roger 
and  to  himself.  "  By-aud-by,  if  we  have  a  boy,  I  will  call  it  Roger" 
— and  then  visions  of  poetical  and  romantic  reconciliations  brought 
about  between  father  and  son,  through  the  medium  of  a  child, 
the  offspring  of  a  forbidden  marriage,  beca^me  still  more  vividly 
possible  to  him,  and  at  any  rate  it  was  a  staving-off  of  an  unpleasant 
thing.  He  atoned  to  himself  for  taking  so  much  of  Roger's  fellow- 
ship money  by  reflecting  that,  if  Roger  married,  he  would  lose  this 
source  of  revenue ;  yet  Osborne  was  throwing  no  impediment  in  the 
way  of  this  event,  rather  forwarding  it  by  promoting  every  possible 
means  of  his  brother's  seeing  the  lady  of  his  love.  Osborne  ended 
bis  reflections  by  convincing  himself  of  his  own  generosity. 


END   OF    VOL.    I. 


t.    -. 

Loudon;:  I'rinted  by  Smith,  Eldeu  aud  Cc,  Old  Bailey,  E.G. 


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